Cabislayne
by Parmelesse
Summary: In the fifteen centuries since Arthur's death, Merlin has wandered the world, doing what he can to help those in need. In 2015, an unexpected discovery brings him back to England, where he quickly finds much more than he expects. When Merlin starts digging up his past, will he be prepared for what he finds?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

Fair warning: If you're reading this story because you enjoyed the first story I posted, "Blood Magic," I ought to warn you this story isn't very similar. It feels different to me, at any rate. "Blood Magic" is, if I may be so bold, a romantic adventure story. "Cabislayne" is…frankly, I'm not sure. It started as a couple ideas I had to write because I couldn't get them out of my head, but it turned into something much more. "Blood Magic" practically wrote itself. I started putting words on paper the same day the idea took shape in my head, and the story just took shape naturally. "Cabislayne" took months just to grow from little seed ideas to the barest outline of a plot. Writing it was even more difficult but also more rewarding. My fondest hope is that you can get as much out of this story as I put into it.

For clarity's sake, I will say that this story is a modern-day sequel to the television series, so the story as you know it from the series stands more or less unchanged. The one notable, albeit unsurprising, exception to the canon (the Merlin/Arthur romance) is, I think, fairly obvious from the story and doesn't particularly need explaining. So I should probably stop prattling on and just let you get to reading.

Rated 'M' for a couple NC-17 scenes later in the story.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The first thing I noticed in the Lyxhotell was the ceiling. Whoever designed the décor had clearly been told that money was no object. I couldn't help staring up at the ceiling. At least, I assumed there was a ceiling up there, somewhere. In fact, there were so many chandeliers, curtains, baubles, lamps, decorative chains, carved statuary, and other miscellaneousdecorative flourishes that a glimpse of the actual ceiling was nearly impossible. Speakers must have been hidden somewhere in the mass of _objet déco_ because I could hear gentle music, something pleasant on strings, floating down from the lofty heights. The room was probably supposed to impress me (and everyone else) with its opulence and grandeur. I've lived too long to be impressed by a large bank account. The room was more like a man screaming his importance into the heavens, demanding to be noticed by the gods.

Under my breath I muttered, "'I am significant!' screamed the dust speck."

"Sorry, sir?"

I moved my gaze downward until I saw a helpful looking bellhop watching me from beside the door. I waved aside his question. "Nothing, just a line from a comic strip. Didn't realize I was speaking aloud."

The young man, whose nametag identified him as 'Chris,' nodded sagely, as though he understood exactly what I was feeling. "It takes a lot of people that way when they see this place for the first time. Your accent…British, right?" Declining to point out that 'British accent' was a particularly American generalization covering dozens, if not hundreds, of different accents from all over the world, I confirmed that my accent was 'British.'

Chris asked, "You ever been here before?"

My eyes wandered upward again. "Here, as in Chicago? Yes. Here, as in this hotel? No."

"Oh, you're in for a treat!" To my surprise, he sounded genuinely excited, not like he was just reciting a script. His chest puffed out with pride as he continued. "The Lyxhotell is the best place to stay in the whole city. It mixes the comfort of luxury suites with the excitement of the big city. In fact, there's actually an onsite casino," he made a gesture toward the back of the lobby, "out that way." Here his voice lowered conspiratorially. "Technically, it's not part of the hotel. It's on a riverboat moored at the hotel dock. Keeping it on a boat gets around some of the trickier issues with a gambling license." That dreadful secret divulged, his voice returned to its normal pitch. "But you'd never know it's a boat, it's so big. There's a connected walkway from the second story."

I held up a hand to stop the torrent of words. "I'll have to go see what the casino has to offer, after I find my room."

"Say, Mister…uh…I didn't get your name."

"Thaddeus Thurgis," I supplied. A lie, of course. I've been given many titles and used many aliases in my lifetime, but only one name: Merlin. Well, two names, if you count 'Emrys.' However, 'Thaddeus' had government-created credentials which would pass any background check. 'Merlin' did not. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You need help with any luggage Mr. Thurgis?" He looked my person up and down just in case there was a previously unnoticed five-piece luggage set concealed somewhere about me.

"Sorry," I held up the leather and suede messenger bag that was hanging by a strap from my shoulder, "just this."

To Chris' credit, his disappointment barely showed for a second. "Gee, that looks awfully heavy," he suggested. "I bet I could help you with that."

"I think I'll be fine on my own." Then, because my would-be valet looked so crestfallen, and because his enthusiasm was a bit infectious, I took a $10 bill from my pocket and pressed it into Chris' hand. "But I wonder if you could help me find my room. I haven't the foggiest idea how to get to, uh," with my free hand, I dug the small pamphlet holding the hotel key card out of my pocket and read the number off the cover, "uh, goodness, the Georgiansk Sviter."

"The Georgian suites?" The young man's eyes went wide. "Don't worry, they're not hard to find." He showed me a lift hidden in a corner away from the more public ones that serviced the rest of the hotel and pressed the call button. "Really, the Georgian suites?" he asked again. I showed him the pamphlet with the key card. "Wow, you must really be rolling in it." The doors slid open and Chris ushered me inside. As the doors slid shut, Chris pressed the button for the thirtieth floor, almost the highest floor available. Below the panel of buttons, a yellow rectangle lit up. Chris indicated the slot inside the rectangle. "Floors 25-32 are secured, only accessible with a key for a room on the same floor." I took out the small card and slid it into the waiting slot. The yellow light around the slot turned green and the lift began to move.

When the doors opened on the thirtieth floor, Chris stood back, waiting for me to exit. "Oh, after you," I prompted, "I don't know where I'm going, remember?"

Chris shook his head. "Uh, no…actually you're here. This is where you're going." The room outside the elevator did seem less of a hallway than a living room. "The Georgian suites _are_ the thirtieth floor."

I stepped out of the elevator and looked around. The room was spacious and decorated with a simple elegance that appealed far more than the clutter of the lobby. Chris followed me out of the elevator to give a quick tour of the rooms. He pointed out the location of the television remote, the password for the Wi-Fi, and the phone, and went through a run-down of the kitchen facilities, the mini-bar, and, at my request, the controls on the enormous Jacuzzi shower tub in the _en suite_ bathroom. For this service, I tipped him an extra $20. I've always had a somewhat adversarial relationship with electronic technology. I probably would've had to start using the sink for sponge baths before I figured out how to work the absurdly over-complicated controls on the shower.

Once Chris left, I took the opportunity to explore the suite in more detail. I hadn't made the hotel arrangements myself and was a bit surprised by the size of the room. Rooms, in point of fact. In addition to the living room, kitchenette, and bathroom, there were also four bedrooms. It seemed excessive to take an entire floor of rooms just for one person. On the other hand, I was posing as a fabulously wealthy member of the jet set, so it was necessary to make a splash and throw a bit of money around. Besides, the suite wasn't all that large. The twenty-ninth floor was the hotel's last full-size floor. The thirtieth floor and those above it were much smaller, a small projection jutting up from the side of the building. On the west side of the suite was an impressive view of the city skyline, and on the opposite side Lake Michigan stretched away into the distance. From this height it was difficult to see the ground directly below me, but I thought I could see the flared tops of the smokestacks on the old steamboat/floating casino moored on the Chicago River.

I briefly considered going out to play tourist and do some sightseeing. Regretfully, though, sightseeing wouldn't fit with the character I was supposed to be playing. I was here as part of an FBI operation to take down a rising star in the world of organized crime, one Ridley "Ape" White. Of course, I had my own reasons for helping the FBI, but they didn't need to know that. I had worked with Ben Reed, the agent in charge of the operation, on several occasions in the past; he was a decent bloke who knew better than to ask too many questions about my occasional assistance and the unusual circumstances that often accompanied it.

And, so, I found myself posing as Thaddeus Thurgis, a rich high roller with an interest in investing a great deal of money in a business which wasn't, perhaps, completely, if you got right down to it, absolutely, totally ethical. Or legal. All this, naturally, in hopes of making an even greater deal of money. Later in the evening I would need to go down to the casino and lose some money, but, for now, my time was his own. A rumbling from my stomach reminded me that I had skipped lunch. Since it was too late to eat lunch and too early to eat dinner, I settled for some granola and a cup of tea, both found in the pre-stocked kitchenette.

The tea wasn't great, but it wasn't bad, either. I settled into one of the comfortable armchairs looking out over the cityscape, already beginning to feel drowsy as I sipped the warm beverage. The afternoon sun streaming in through the open curtains drew the last vestiges of wakefulness from my body.

_ Dreams creep through the wizard's rest,  
Unbidden, unwanted, full of portent.  
Heed them and avoid the hornets' nest._

_ In a darkened land, by no sunlight blest,  
Fierce wind blows a gale storm without relent.  
Dreams creep through the wizard's rest._

_ Whispers roar to him a frantic request  
Too soft for him to understand what's meant.  
Heed them and avoid the hornets' nest._

_ In the east, dawn begins to crest.  
Seen clearly now, barren land by fire rent.  
Dreams creep through the wizard's rest._

_ Coals burn on ash-strewn ground, fire's child undressed.  
Hot words run thick with dangerous intent.  
Heed them and avoid the hornets' nest._

_ The wizard stirs. The sun dies in the west.  
From slumber's depths the sleeper makes ascent.  
Dreams creep through the wizard's rest;  
Heed them and avoid the hornets' nest._

I sat still after waking, mentally sifting through the uncertainty between sleep and waking, trying to clear my mind. That I had been dreaming was certain, but I couldn't recall the dream. I raised a hand to wipe the cold sweat from my forehead and was surprised to find my hand was trembling. It took several deep breaths to calm my nerves. I knew better than to try and remember what I had dreamt. Thinking about it would only muddle it even further. My mind would start trying to fill in details, and soon I wouldn't remember what was dream and what wasn't. One thing did stand out in my memory, though: A land ravaged by fire. What it meant, I didn't know.

I've been through more than my fair share of devastation over the centuries; idly I fingered a silver ring on my left hand that held a small jewel with a deep, lush green colour. Maybe the dream was just an old memory percolating to the surface of my mind, but it felt like more—it reminded me of the days following Arthur's death. My heart had felt as desolate and ravaged as the land I saw in the dream. Centuries later I still felt the pain of that loss as keenly as the day I had given Arthur to the Lady of the Lake. I lost part of my heart when I lost Arthur, and I've never gotten it back—I've just learned to live with it.

A chime from a clock somewhere in the room told me that there wasn't any time to worry about dreams now. I had just enough time to change and still get down to dinner by six o'clock. After a quick shower and shave, I donned a maroon turtleneck, khaki slacks, and a navy blazer. I checked my reflection in the mirror to make sure I looked right for my part. My dark hair was neatly trimmed but not too short—short hair always made my ears look too big—and I'd decided to wear a small Van Dyke beard. I looked, ballpark figure, in my late thirties, not my mid-one-thousands. There was a bit of meat on my bones, filling out my face so my cheekbones weren't quite so prominent. I reached up to touch my cheek, the way Arthur always used to when we were alone. My eyes sparkled with golden light, and my reflection in the mirror turned into an image of Arthur.

"I miss you." I said it aloud to the empty room. Nobody answered. No one ever did. I said it anyway and answered myself, watching the reflection in the mirror move its lips as I spoke. "I miss you, too." I closed my eyes and the image in the mirror dissolved back into reality. Then I called the elevator and went down to dinner alone.

After a dinner at the in-house restaurant (Michelin-starred, according to the waiter), I followed the signs directing me to the second-floor covered walkway that led to the casino. The second floor was well above the water level, so the walkway entered the casino on the third of four decks. Well-hidden joints allowed the end of the walkway to shift as needed to accommodate the rocking of the boat. I stepped through the curtained doorway and stopped to allow my eyes to adjust to the low light.

A clerk was waiting behind a high counter to take my money in exchange for a stack of plastic chits. He greeted me politely, "Good evening, sir." I approached the counter and handed the clerk my room key. Whatever I spent would simply be added to the bill. "Thank you, sir." The clerk swiped the key and began typing on a keyboard I couldn't see behind the counter. "May I have your name?"

"Thaddeus Thurgis"

"Thank you, and how much would you like tonight?"

"Fifty thousand should be good for starters. Let's do all but ten thousand in $5K chips. Break the rest into smaller denominations, whatever sounds good to you."

More typing. The clerk collected a stack of chips and slid them across the counter along with my room key, an electronic tablet, and a stylus. The clerk tapped the tablet and a box appeared. "May I have your signature here, sir?" I pocketed the room key, took the stylus, and signed the tablet. "Thank you. Enjoy your evening."

I began to collect the stack of chips. "So where's the luck running this evening?"

The clerk smiled knowingly. "No one's hit big at the crap tables all night. The jackpot's getting very high, it's bound to pay out at any moment. But…" he leaned forward slightly, "I have a feeling you might find blackjack more interesting. I happen to know there's a space open at one of the tables on the first deck as we speak."

Thanking the clerk for the tip, I stepped through the doorway that led to casino proper. The lighting was strange. It wasn't dim, exactly, but it felt dim because all the light was focused on the gambling tables. That was probably for the best; if the ceilings were better lit, the patrons would actually be able to see the cloud of tobacco smoke which hung in the air across the whole deck. Like most casinos, it had an open layout allowing as many enticements and attractions as possible into your field of view. What I noticed most, though, was the smell. It was like a cigar factory had caught fire and someone had tried to extinguish it with stale beer.

I found the stairs to the lower decks near the other end of the ship. Feeling a sudden kinship with the mythological Orpheus, I descended two flights of stairs and emerged on the first deck. Another minute of searching revealed the blackjack tables. As I made my way to the tables, I had to dodge half-a-dozen wandering waitresses bearing trays of drinks and wearing uniforms which, between all six of them, had just about enough fabric to make a blouse for one of them. I occurred to me that Thaddeus would probably have taken a drink (and anything else she felt inclined to offer) from the first waitress, so, when a seventh waitress offered me a cocktail, I accepted the small scotch and soda. I had to swipe my room key over a small pendant that hung from her neck and nearly disappeared into her ample cleavage.

Eventually, drink in hand, I reached the blackjack tables where there was, indeed, an empty seat. I began moving toward the seat and almost stopped short when I saw the player in the next seat over. It was Ridley White himself. Looking at the man, broad shoulders curving down as he hunched over the table, black hair and black beard worn long, it was easy to see how he came by the nickname "Ape." The man resembled nothing so much as a gorilla wearing a business suit. Given the man's reputation for also matching a gorilla's strength, I doubted whether very many people called him Ape to his face…more than once.

I took the empty seat at the end of the table and waited for the next round to be dealt into the game. While the dealer settled the bets and collected the cards from the table, Ridley turned to see who had joined the game.

His face split in a jovial grin and he thrust out his hand. "Thaddeus!" I took the proffered hand and shook it; I've seen catcher's mitts smaller than Ridley's hands. "Hoped to run into you tonight."

I retrieved my hand from Ridley's iron grip before any bones broke. "Really? I wasn't expecting to see you until our meeting tomorrow."

"Yes, needed to catch you. Can't make it to the meeting tomorrow; stuff's come up." He threw out each sentence like an artillery shell. I wondered if the man possibly suffered an allergy to first-person pronouns. "Going to reschedule, right?"

I had expected something like this. Ridley's paranoia was well-known. I didn't see much choice other than to agree or call off everything. "When were you thinking of rescheduling to?" Ridley's own strange syntax was making Merlin unusually aware of his grammar. "Er…To when were you thinking of rescheduling?"

Ridley raised an eyebrow. "Heard you the first time. Don't have to say it twice. The meeting'll be tomorrow evening. Six o'clock. Sharp."

I nodded my agreement. "I'll be at your office at six, then."

"Nope. Here."

"I'm sorry?"

"Here. Gotta cabin on the top deck. Private office, away from prying eyes."

"Alight, then I'll be here at six." I raised my glass to Ridley and took a sip of the scotch. It wasn't cheap stuff; the flavour expanded pleasantly on my palette and filled my sinuses. "Mmm," I commented, "good choice."

Ridley looked up at the dealer, who wasn't foolish enough to interrupt his boss in the middle of a conversation. "Whaddya standing around for? Deal already!"

The dealer did as commanded. The dealer was showing a nine, and I had a five and a three. Not a great start. Ridley had been in control of the bet on the last round and went bust, so I was in control of the hand. I pulled out one of the $5,000 chips and tossed it into the betting box.

Ridley nudged me with an elbow, nearly knocking me out of my seat. "That's a lotta dough to lay down on a lousy hand."

Feigning nonchalance, I replied, "Is it? Wait, are the red ones five grand or ten?"

"Five thousand," the dealer informed him. "Ten thousand would be a blue chit."

"Five thousand?" I made a show of considering, "Let it ride, I'm feeling lucky," and tapped the table. "Hit me."

One of the other players at the table folded. The other three, including Ridley placed their own bets and the dealer gave them each a third card and then drew a second card for himself. The dealer drew an ace, putting him at twenty. One of the other players bust; Ridley and the third player folded. I had been given a two, bringing my total to ten. I stared at my cards, trying to decide the best move.

"Shit, man!" this from Ridley, "Dealer's at twenty. You gotta get Blackjack or you get nothing. Ain't worth it."

I said nothing. Instead I reached out and pushed my $5,000 chip to the side of the betting box and drew a second out of my pocket.

Ridley moaned and leaned back in his seat until he was staring at the sealing. "No way! No way! That's so stupid!"

I set the second chip beside the first and tapped the table again. Quietly I added, "Double-down."

Ridley couldn't take his eyes off the table as the dealer drew a final card. By doubling the bet, I had agreed to stand with my hand after one more card…no matter what I got dealt. With my hand showing ten and the dealer's at twenty, I needed an ace or else I lost the hand. Under his breath Ridley muttered, "No way. Ain't no fucking way he deals you that ace. No way." With a flourish, the dealer flipped over a six. Ridley let out a groan as though he were in physical pain. "Ohhhh! That hurts, man!" The dealer swept the cards and chips away and I was $10,000 poorer. "Told you, man!" Ridley gave me a friendly punch in the arm, which began turning gorgeous shades of lavender and puce beneath my shirt sleeve. "Why'd you do it? There's no way it would pay off."

I turned to look at Ridley. "But wouldn't it have been exciting if it did?" Ridley didn't have an answer for that. "Consider it a first investment in the business," I added. "We'll discuss future investments tomorrow evening."

Ridley laughed heartily. "Haw-haw-haw! Get a load of the balls on you!" He stood up from his seat and thrust out his hand again. Risking serious injury, I shook Ridley's hand for the second time that night. "Gotta split," Ridley announced, "See you tomorrow."

I played through the next several hands of Blackjack without paying much attention, mostly thinking about Ridley. The man was likeable, in a crude sort of way. You could almost forget he had pushed hundreds of millions of dollars' worth of coke into the drug pipelines and that people who got in his way had a peculiar habit of disappearing. I stayed at the blackjack tables for about an hour. Except for the first hand, I won enough to nearly break even. I went on to other tables and tried my hand at roulette, craps, poker, and even slot machines. Although I'm usually loathe to throw money away on them, I actually enjoy games of chance. (Not poker, though—I'm too good at reading faces to find any challenge in poker.) Throwing money away on games was just the sort of thing Thaddeus would do, though, so I got to indulge myself a bit. After what I judged to be long enough, I returned to the stairs and went all the way up above the fourth deck to the top of the boat.

The top deck was open to the casino patrons, but, since there were no games and no bars up here, it was, of course, empty. Earlier in the evening it was probably popular with couples sipping drinks and enjoying the river or looking for a dark, private corner. By midnight, everyone was either sensibly in bed or spending money in the decks below. Although there were no lights on the boat, downtown Chicago never got too terribly dark even in the middle of the night. Once my eyes had adjusted, I had no trouble seeing my way in the semi-dark. I walked several turns around the deck slowly like someone enjoying the cool breeze off the river. The fourth time around, I stopped and studied the back wall of the cabin that served as Ridley's office.

The cabin was built about six inches above the deck, presumably so any standing water on the deck wouldn't flood into the office. On its back side, the cabin overhung the concrete pad on which it stood by several inches. I extracted a small black box, a little smaller than a mobile phone, from the pocket of my blazer and pressed one side of the box with my thumb. A small green light on the opposite side flicked on, blinked twice, and turned off, indicating that the device's internal electromagnet had been activated. Just as I knelt down to try and fix the box underneath the overhang of the cabin, a figure stepped around the corner.

The counter clerk who had given me my chips and the tip about the Blackjack tables stood over me. It was difficult to see his face in the poor light, but he didn't look happy. "Geez, Dad!" he sounded annoyed, "Did you even think to check for security? Someone like Ape isn't gonna leave his private office unguarded."

I stood up, brushing dust from my knees as he did so. "I checked the deck three times," I protested.

"I know, I watched you." Annoyed though he might be, Dan couldn't keep a measure of pride out of his voice.

"From where?" I asked, disbelieving. Dan grinned and pointed up. An intricate web of ropes, some functional, some decorative, criss-crossed over the entire deck. I nodded, "Clever. I should've thought of that."

"Yes, why didn't you?"

I dearly love my adopted son, but he can be trying at times. Dan lost both his parents—geologists who got too close to Mount St. Helens just before it erupted—when he was barely a year old. I had been able to rescue Dan from his parents' base camp just in time to prevent him from sharing their fate.

"My mind was elsewhere," I admitted. "I take it you're the reason there's no security."

Dan grinned and held up a tiny, feathered dart. "He never even felt it. At least, he didn't feel the pinprick. He definitely felt a very urgent call of nature shortly afterward. He'll be gone for quite a while."

Kneeling down once more, I reached under the cabin and heard a hollow "clomp" as the magnet fixed to the underside of Ridley's cabin office. I stood back up and surveyed the deck. "Good, you can't see it at all unless you're practically laying on the deck. Arresting him won't do much good unless we have proof, though. Did you have any luck finding our disappearing state witness?"

Dan nodded. "The hotel has several sub-levels. Will's being kept down there."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness, I was afraid Ridley had already killed him."

"I heard he has plans to make some sort of example out of Will. Ape was pretty pissed when he found out one of his own was turning state's evidence."

"Let's see if we can't throw a wrench in those plans."

"I think I can break him out during your meeting tomorrow. The sub-levels are practically empty. All the security is digital because Ape's paranoid about trusting people. He's never learned that computers in the wrong hands aren't any safer than people. I can't just open all the doors or anything, that'd be noticed, but," Dan held up his hotel-issued nametag, "As far as the computer's concerned, this badge belongs to one of Ridley's lieutenants. I can go anywhere in the hotel with this baby."

"Ridley's moved the meeting to six in the evening. That won't be a problem?"

Dan shook his head. "I can get in anytime I want. It's just safest to wait until Ape's busy with you."

"Good." I smiled. "Very good. Now, let's get out of here before that poor guard gets back."

"We probably shouldn't be seen coming down together. I'll use the employee access at the bow."

Dan went off toward the other end of the boat and I went back down the public stairs. My night's work completed, I opted to cash out my chips and return to the hotel rather than go back the casino. The pleasant young man who had taken Dan's place at the counter took my chips, credited them to my hotel bill, and wished me a pleasant night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I slept a deep and, thankfully, dreamless sleep after returning to my suite. I woke late and, after showering and dressing, ordered the continental breakfast from room service. Breakfast was brought up by Chris, bright-eyed as ever but, it seemed to me, somewhat more reserved than yesterday. He was certainly less talkative than yesterday. Chris wheeled the breakfast tray out of the elevator into the dining room with barely a "Hello, sir" and turned to go without even waiting for a tip.

I called out before Chris got to the elevator. "Chris, is something wrong?"

Chris turned back, but didn't quite look me in the eye. "Wrong? No, sir."

"You just seem a bit on edge. You weren't afraid to talk to me yesterday."

Chris looked down and shuffled his feet. "I didn't know you were one of Mr. White's _partners_." He added an emphasis to 'partners' which, while not directly rude, conveyed a certain distaste. "The rumour is that you're meeting him tonight."

"You don't like Mr. White very much, do you, Chris?"

"I'm sure it's not my place to say, sir."

"Hmm. Well, I don't like him very much." That got Chris' attention. I decided to lay all my cards on the table. Dan would call this a stupid risk, but it didn't concern me. People are pretty much an open book to me. Centuries of human experience has made me more reliable than a polygraph when it comes to reading body language, facial expressions, and other nonverbal communications. I knew Chris wasn't hiding anything or trying to fool me. "I haven't been entirely honest with Mr. White about my reasons for wanting to meet with him. Are you aware that Mr. White is in charge of a very extensive criminal organisation?"

"Sort of. I mean, you hear things, right? You don't mean to, but you can't help it. It doesn't surprise me, though. Mr. White and his guys are the only thing I don't like about this place."

"Would you like to get him out of here?"

A devilish smile lifted the corners of Chris' mouth. "You mean it?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" I crossed to the living room and began to write a message on a piece of hotel stationary retrieved from an end table. "What time does your shift end?"

"I get off at three. Why?"

I finished my letter and folded it twice like it was going into an envelope. Instead of an envelope, I got a piece of soft wax and a seal from my bag. Turning so Chris couldn't see my eyes, I pressed the seal to the wax, whispering a spell under my breath which would prevent anyone except the intended recipient from reading the letter's contents. Once the wax melted into a puddle, I pulled the seal away, leaving a perfect impression of an ornate letter 'M.'

"Wow," breathed Chris, "How'd you do that?"

I handed him the sealed letter with a shrug, "Magic."

"Sure, sure…probably a little heater in that seal, I bet." He studied the letter in his hands. "Isn't it a little unsafe, just folding it up like this? Anyone could peek in and read most of the letter without even opening it."

I slipped the seal back into my pack. "Trust me, that seal is about as safe as a letter can get."

Chris touched the blob of wax with a finger. "It doesn't look like much. What's the 'M' for?" He grinned and jokingly suggested, "Magic?"

I shrugged again. "Something like that. Listen, as soon as you get out of the hotel, I need you to take this letter to the Imperial Café. You know where that is?" Chris nodded. "Good. Order a chicken salad sandwich and French fries with red wine, then give your waiter the letter. After that, my friends will make sure you're protected until we're done tonight. Can you do that?"

"Chicken salad sandwich, French fries, red wine, letter. Got it."

"Good man." I handed Chris five crisp $100 bills. "For your trouble."

Chris, however, pushed the bills back into my hand. "If you can get rid of Mr. White, this is on the house."

"Your sense of duty is admirable, but this isn't just a tip. How were you planning on getting across town?"

Chris looked nonplussed. "Well, on the subway."

"Very public, and the nearest station to the Imperial Café is ten blocks away." I slipped the money into Chris' shirt pocket. "I'd prefer you hire a cab. If any trouble comes up, offer the driver $500 to get you across town fast." Chris silently nodded, wide-eyed.

The rest of the day passed with painful slowness. Ridley would probably have me followed if I left the room, so I stayed in and tried to find something to do other than watching the clock. My mind wandered and I found myself thinking about yesterday's dream. I still couldn't recall many details other than darkness and fire and ash, but I felt certain that it was a warning. A warning to do something? A warning _not_ to do something?

I stared at the green stone on my ring. It was small, just a bit over a quarter-inch square, and faceted in a way that made it look bottomless, like it was a tiny door into eternity. It was usually the only piece of jewellery I ever wore, unless you counted my wrist watch; Dan wore a pendant, usually out of sight beneath his shirt, made of the same green stone. The stone was made from the ash of Mount St. Helens, carbon subjected to intense pressure and heat in a laboratory until it fused into a gemstone. Dan and I wore the stones in memory of his parents and the fifty-seven others who died in the eruption and its aftermath.

Eventually the day wound to a close and the sun began to set. I dressed for the meeting with Ridley in a simple black suit, a bit more professional than last night's blazer. In the bathroom, I opened a small plastic case and delicately plucked a contact out of the cleaning solution. I applied the contact to my left eye, then took out the second contact and placed it in my right eye. I blinked a couple times and studied my eyes in the bathroom mirror. Nothing appeared unusual. The contacts were replicas of my own eyes and didn't have any vision correction. I gestured at the contact case, watching my eyes as I did so. There was a brief tingle as the magic flowed through me and the lid of the contact case snapped shut, but there was no evidence of the golden glow in my eyes, hidden behind the contacts.

Once more, I took the elevator down the second floor and took the aerial walkway that led to the casino. A young woman was at the counter this time. She smiled and welcomed me to the casino, but I assured her that I didn't need any chips. "I'm a bit early for meeting on the top deck, I'll just head up and enjoy the fresh air." The clerk smiled and told me she hoped I enjoyed myself. Once in the casino, though, I didn't go straight up to the top deck. I made my way to the bar on the third deck and ordered a couple fingers of scotch. The bartender was gone almost as soon as he set down the drink, off to serve the next patron, so he didn't notice that I never actually drank the scotch.

I picked up the glass and softly whispered, "_Diflas eu meddyliau; ddall eu llygaid__._" The golden-brown liquid in the glass bubbled briefly and evaporated into the air. Although I couldn't see the vapor, I knew it was expanding, multiplying, filling the room and, soon, the whole ship. Already I could perceive a vacant quality in the people around me. The ship could burn down around them and they wouldn't notice until the deck fell out from under their feet. It seemed a bit cruel to manipulate people this way, but I needed to make sure there were no unwanted interruptions during my meeting with Ridley. That task accomplished, I went up to the top deck. The fresh air smelled sweet after the stale, closed off air of the casino. There were still five minutes before six o'clock. At the bow of the ship I looked downriver; there was a bridge spanning the river not too far away. If Chris had managed to deliver his message…yes, slowly the bridge split in the middle and began to rise. Good. I held a hand out over the river and uttered another spell.

"_Fynd __â ni at y llyn._"

Nothing appeared to change, but appearances were deceiving. I could see that the river was looking a bit choppier than it had before, running a bit faster than it had before. The light breeze off the river was growing into a strong wind. I almost pitied Ridley. The man was so sure of himself, a spider sitting in control of everything his web encompassed. But he was very soon to find out that he was only a fly in a much bigger web. I went back to the stern of the boat, to Ridley's office. At six o'clock on the nose, the door opened and Ridley invited me inside. He had to fight against the wind to get the door shut.

"Man, weather's getting nasty tonight," Ridley commented. The office wasn't very large but it had enough room for a desk and a meeting table. I noted with pleasure that there were no windows. Ridley retrieved a folder from his desk and sat down at the table, indicating that I should take one of the other chairs. Ridley leaned back in his chair and eyed me critically. "So, Thaddeus, why would you be interested in funding an operation like mine?"

I met Ridley's gaze without flinching. "I run my business dealings on two very simple principles," I told him. "First, never give out more information than I have to, and, second, never get involved with an incompetent partner." I arched an eyebrow. "I'm sure you've run your own background checks; why don't you tell me how much you were able to figure out?"

"Fair enough," Ridley chuckled. "At first it didn't make any sense why you'd take an interest in this business. You look to be doing pretty good for yourself and all above board, too."

"If that's all you found," I interjected, "you're not half as good as I've heard you are."

Ridley smiled with a smug satisfaction. "You heard right. I sent your books to the boys in finance. You gotta understand, these guys grew up doing books for the mob; nothin' gets past them. Two weeks later, they come back and say they give up. They say you make numbers dance. They say you got everything running so smooth that they can't see the cash disappearing from your books until it turns up someplace else it shouldn't be. That's what they say." I said nothing. "So I think you got cash problems. You're turning illegal profit like nobody's business, but you need someplace to launder it, so it don't show up on your books. How close is that?"

I made a mental note to thank the FBI for preparing such a convincing cover identity. I slowly let a smile spread across my face. "That's good. Very good. Almost perfect." The rocking of the boat beneath us was getting noticeably choppy.

"Whaddya mean 'almost' perfect?"

Chuckling, I shook my head at Ridley. "Oh, you found exactly what you were supposed to find. Enough to convince you I was a legimate investor."

Ridley flexed his arms, and I noticed the outline of a gun hidden a shoulder holster under Ridley's jacket. "You pullin' some sort of bluff?"

"Yes!" The idea appealed to me. "A bluff, yes, everything riding on the flip of a card. Crazy stupid, but won't it be amazing if it works?"

Ridley pulled the gun from its holster and pointed it between my eyes. "You'd best start explaining." At that moment, four bolts of lightning struck the dock at almost the same instant. In the office, we heard the arcing of electricity and then the air filled with a deafening thunder; a noise so loud that I could actually feel the sound in my bones washed all other noise from the air. Immediately afterward the floor fell out from under us both. The boat tipped wildly and seemed to drop three feet straight down. Ridley fell out of his chair, dropping the gun and knocking his head on the deck. I had been expecting the jolt and gripped the table to keep my balance. The office was suddenly filled with the sound of torrential rain beating against the roof. It reverberated in the small space until it sounded like the room was going to shake itself apart.

Ridley got up, holding onto his desk for support. Forgetting about me for the moment, he ran out onto the deck to find out what was happening. Two burly men in black suits were near the door, apparently coming to get Ridley. "What the HELL is going on?" Ridley yelled over the downpour.

One of the men pointed at the city on the banks of the river. That was when Ridley saw that the city was sliding by at an alarming rate as the ship was carried down the Chicago River. "The lightning blew away the mooring chains. We're being carried with the current." The current was, indeed carrying the ship down river. Afterward, when the news networks aired videos people had taken on their mobile phones, anchors and spokespeople would spend weeks debating whether or not it was a hoax. People swore that the riverboat was being steered around obstacles, kept from running aground. A river's current couldn't do that, could it? It didn't have any conscious intent. Did it? As the boat slid under the first of the drawbridges I saw that all the drawbridges spanning the river ahead of us had been raised out of the way. I smiled and made a mental note to thank Chris for delivering my message.

Ridley was screaming at his bodyguards. "Get down below and fire up the fucking engines! GET US BACK TO SHORE!"

The bodyguard who had spoken before spoke up again. "We don't have engines, sir! You had them removed because maintaining them on the ship required extra permits."

Ridley glared at the guard, who shrugged helplessly. The boat…I never did catch its name…shot out of the mouth of the river and flew out onto Lake Michigan. Ridley swung around and advanced on me, murder in his eyes.

"YOU! You knew this was going to happen didn't you? How?"

I had to shout to make myself heard over the storm. "How could I possibly have known this would happen?"

Ridley wasn't convinced. He pulled a second gun out of his other shoulder holster. Drat. I hadn't seen that one. I'd hoped Ridley just had the one gun. "If this doesn't stop right now, we'll see if a bullet in your brain doesn't make it stop."

"Fine." I would have preferred to wait until Ridley wasn't watching, but I hardly had a choice at the moment. "_Fod yn llonydd._" The storm stopped. The water calmed. The clouds vanished from the sky revealing a clear moonlit night.

The gun shook in Ridley's hand. He stared at me. "What the fuck…"

I calmly plucked the gun from Ridley's unsteady grip. "You should really be more concerned about them," I said, pointing back toward the shore. A small fleet of ships was swarming toward us. "How familiar are you with the Illinois Riverboat Gambling Act?"

The look of confusion on Ridley's face was almost comical. "What!?"

The ships were close enough now to see that they were Coast Guard cutters. Many of them, I knew, were also carrying FBI agents. "It's funny," I went on in a casual, friendly manner, "Your licence allows you to operate this casino on any body of water in the state of Illinois…except Lake Michigan."

Ridley began to look a touch sick as reality slowly dawned. "But," he was grasping for a metaphorical lifeline now, "There's no way people are still gambling. They would'a panicked when the ship broke loose."

"Ah. Well, no, actually. Sorry, but no one below decks probably even noticed the ship broke loose…they probably still haven't."

The first of the ships pulled up alongside the riverboat and began ordering them to prepare to be boarded for inspection. "How'd they get out here so fast?" Ridley grumbled.

"That's easy. I planted a homing beacon on the ship last night and sent them a message saying they could put a stop to an illegal gambling operation if they followed it tonight." I snapped my fingers as though remembering a tiny detail. "Oh, yes, I also asked them to raise all the drawbridges between the Lyxhotell and the lake."

"That's not legal!" Ridley pointed an accusing finger at me. "That's entrapment!"

"I don't see how," I protested. "I'm not an agent of any law enforcement. They're simply acting on an anonymous tip received earlier this afternoon." It was the last straw. Ridley lunged at me, hands outstretched to wrap around my throat. I ducked and dodged out of the way. Although I didn't match up to Ridley's brute strength, I've learned a thing or two about fighting. I particularly liked styles like Judo, which use your opponent's strength against him. Ridley rushed at me again. I crouched low. Before Ridley knew what was happening, he was sailing up in the air, over the railing, and falling down the side of the ship. He landed belly-flop style on the water with a loud slap.

I looked over the railing and winced. The impact must have knocked the wind out of Ridley. The Coast Guard had fished him out of the lake and he was lying on the deck of a cutter gasping like a fish out of water. I looked back to see if the bodyguards were going to be any trouble. They appeared to be men who knew which way the wind was blowing; they weren't putting up any resistance to the FBI agents who were escorting them below decks.

Ben Reed, my FBI contact, strode across the deck to where I stood. "Freaky coincidence isn't it," he said, "that storm just at the right moment?"

I nodded. "Freaky," I agreed.

Ben rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't tell me how you did it."

Blandly, I replied, "How I did what?"

"Never mind," Ben gave a resigned sigh. "And I suppose you don't know anything about the patrons of the casino either? We can't get anything out of them. They just sit there playing their games, oblivious to the rest of the world."

I gave Ben a lopsided smile. "That's pretty strange."

"How do you expect me to explain to my boss that I recovered a riverboat casino full of gambling zombies?"

"It's probably just…shock. Or something. I'm sure it'll wear off in an hour or two."

"Right."

"I should warn you there might be some trouble with Ridley."

Ben's eyes narrowed. "What kind of trouble?"

"He's probably going to try for an insanity plea. He's very convincing in his belief that I somehow conjured the storm that broke the boat free from the docks."

"I just bet he is," Ben said dryly. "Well, you might be interested to know Dan recovered the witness. I got the message just before we caught up with the boat."

"I suppose you'll be putting him back in Witness Protection until Ridley's trial."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Any thought as to where you'll send him?"

Ben arched an eyebrow. "You know I can't tell you that."

I ignored him. "I have a suggestion, if you don't have any definite plans yet."

"Is this one of those suggestions that I don't have to follow, but, if I don't, I'll find the mysterious forces of destiny and fate suddenly aligned against me?"

"You get the strangest ideas sometimes."

"Right, I thought so. What's the 'suggestion'?"

"Keep him here in Chicago. At least for a while. It's easier to hide in a big city than a small one."

Ben didn't say anything right away. He was considering the idea. "I suppose it could work. The brass won't like it, though."

"They can move him after they've figured out where to put him. Just keep him around the city for a week or two."

"Uh-huh. You wouldn't happen to have a place in mind?"

"Do you expect me to do your job for you?" I started walking toward the stairs that led down into the casino. "By the way," I called back, "Have you ever stayed at the Hearthfire? Lovely little hotel near the edge of town. Very nicely kept, very isolated."

\- x - x - x - x - x -

Chris was waiting for me in the lobby of the Lyxhotell, so I invited him up to the suite. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Chris began to chatter excitedly. "I heard Mr. White's been arrested. Did lightning really blow up the dock? What happened? You were there, right? That's why you were out so late. What'll happen to the hotel? Is it going to close?" The elevator door opened into the living room of the Georgian suites. The curtains were drawn and low lamplight created an almost homey atmosphere. Dan got up from one of the chairs to meet us.

"Chris," I held up a silencing hand, "I'd like you to meet my son, Dan." Dan extended a handshake to Chris.

Chris took the proffered hand and shook it enthusiastically. "I've seen you around. Don't you work in the casino? Wow, that's quite a grip you've got there."

Dan laughed softly and his hazel eyes danced in the lamplight. "Sorry about that," he released Chris' hand from his grip. Dan had swapped his casino uniform for a short sleeve tee shirt, revealing not only a pair of very muscular arms but also a geometric tattoo around his right arm just above the wrist. He was just over five feet tall with the toned body of an athlete. As a rule, he didn't care much for organized sports, but he got plenty of exercise travelling with me. When we weren't travelling, he kept himself in shape mountain climbing, kayaking, skiing, and goodness knows what else. If something's outdoors and potentially life-threatening, Dan loves it. Although his sandy brown hair wasn't very long, it always had a slightly rumpled, shaggy look, even when it was combed.

Chris looked from me to Dan and back again. "Your son?"

Blast. I had momentarily forgotten that, by all appearances, Dan and I were practically the same age. Dan, of course, was actually thirty-five years old; I only looked like I was thirty-five. We usually travelled as brothers or cousins when I was wearing a guise too close to Dan's age. Mentally I chided myself for the slip. "I'm, uh, a bit older than I look. Good living, you know."

Dan stepped in to distract Chris. "To answer your earlier question, Chris, yes, I did work in the casino for a while. Dad needed an extra pair of eyes behind the scenes. I understand we have you to thank for getting his message to the agents."

Chris beamed with pride. "Really, it was nothing."

"No," Dan insisted, "we couldn't have pulled this off without your help."

"Oh!" Chris exclaimed and started rummaging in his pockets. "I almost forgot." He waved a number of crumpled bills at me. "Your change."

I shook his head and waved away Chris' hand. "Keep the change. This time, it is a tip; consider it a thank-you gift."

"I couldn't! There's still most of the $500; I didn't have to pay off the taxi driver."

"Chris," I said, "it is the privilege of the old to spoil those youngsters we deem deserving, so take the money and put it to good use."

Chris didn't look convinced, but he didn't try to give the money back either. "You're not that much older than me," he pointed out, which made Dan laugh out loud. I shot Dan a look and he quieted himself.

"Regardless," I continued, "we do owe you a debt of gratitude. We'll be leaving in the morning, but the FBI will be keeping an eye on things for a while. I asked the agent in charge to keep a particular eye on you."

"What's gonna happen to the hotel?" asked Chris.

"Ridley was the owner, but he only managed the illegal side of the business," Dan explained. "I'm sure lawyers will take ages sorting out exactly who owns the hotel now, but, publically, things probably won't change at all. The hotel can keep running just like it always has."

"Although I'm not sure if you'll be getting the riverboat back for a while," I interjected. "Technically it's been seized as part of the investigation."

"Eh, we'll get along without it," Chris said. "Do you really have to leave, though?"

I nodded. "I'm afraid so. We have obligations elsewhere that need attended."

Chris held out his hand very formally and shook our hands in turn. "I can't thank you enough for getting Mr. White out of here. If you ever come back this way, be sure to drop in." After we assured him that we would come by the next time we were in town, Chris left via the elevator.

Dan gave me an inquisitive look. "Are you feeling alright?"

I frowned. "I'm feeling fine. Why?"

"You let me get the drop on you last night on the boat. You forgot that you're supposed to be my brother, not my dad. You don't normally make slips like that."

I sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs with a sigh. "I know, I know. I guess I am a little distracted. The first day I was here, I had a dream that's been bugging me."

Dan sat down across from me. "What sort of dream?"

"I don't know. I don't remember much of it. Just…"

"What, Dad?"

"It's nothing," I replied, waving aside the question. "I'm sure its meaning will be clear when we need it to be."

Dan didn't look so convinced. "Maybe we should take a break. You've been going pretty much nonstop to get Will out of here for weeks now."

"Not a bad idea," Merlin admitted. "After we finish with Will, though. Tomorrow, we're moving to the Hearthfire as planned. I need to see this through."

"Alright, but you promise you'll take it easy afterward?" I nodded. "Good. Now," Dan covered a large yawn, "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. What do you say we get a little shut-eye?"

\- x - x - x - x - x -

Two days later I stood at the window of my room in the Hearthfire and stared down at the road several stories below. There was a bus terminal on the side of the road across from the hotel. Nothing about it looked particularly special. In fact, it looked like any other terminal in any other city. Not terribly well kept, a bit shabby at the edges, but someone had made a half-hearted effort to make it presentable and provide a modicum of shade for the waiting passengers by installing awnings of smoked glass. The massive parking structure behind the terminal made more shade than the silly, translucent awnings. There weren't many people who were willing to brave the hot afternoon sun just to catch a bus to downtown Chicago. As the evening drew closer and temperatures dropped a bit, the foot traffic would pick up substantially. In a few hours, people returning from the work day or headed into the city for the evening would fill the benches until it was standing room only. But not yet.

A knock sounded on the door to the adjoining room. The Hearthfire was considerably less opulent than the Lyxhotell, and I only had one rather cramped room, but Dan and I had been able to get adjoining rooms. It only took a few steps to cross the room and open the door.

"Ready to go?" Dan asked.

Instead of answering, I said, "They're late. They should've been here by now." I looked at the clock radio on the bedside table to see how late it was. The clock flashed 12:00 several times before I remembered it wasn't set properly. When we'd arrived at the hotel two days ago, the clock had been several minutes slow. I'd attempted to correct the time, but only managed to make it stop working entirely.

Dan tried not laugh when he saw the clock. "Someday, Dad, you will have to learn how to work electronic devices. It's only just past 2:30." He sat down on the bed and started setting the clock radio to the correct time. "They're only a couple minutes late. Don't panic yet."

I held up my arm to look at my watch; it did, indeed, read just past 2:30pm. "Well, they're still late." I went back to the window. "What's holding them up?" Before the question was finished, I was momentarily blinded by a flash of sunshine glinting off the roof of an approaching van.

Dan, finished returning the clock to working order, joined me at the window. "Is that them?" I waited until I could make out government plates on the van before nodding. "Good. Now, are you ready to go?"

I pointed to the messenger bag on the bed. "Yes, all packed. Can you pull the car around to the side? I'll just be a bit longer."

"Sure thing. See you down there." Dan went back through to his room and locked the door behind him.

Drawing the heavy drapes across the window, I went to the small desk across from the bed. Amongst the various pieces of hotel swag and water bottles (priced just three times what you would pay in store "for your convenience") was the small desk phone. I pressed the button which would call Housekeeping and waited for Sandy to arrive.

Presently there was another knock, this time on the door into the hallway. I didn't bother to check the peep-hole to see who was there before opening the door; on the other side of the door, I found Sandy, a charming young lady of twenty-four dressed in the drab grey hotel uniform with a white apron.

Sandy smiled wide when I opened the door. "Hi, Mr. Merlin!"

Merlin stood back to let her into the room. "Sandy, thanks for coming so quickly. How are you today?"

She hesitated a moment before answering. "There are good days and bad days. But you don't need to hear about my problems, what did you need?" She noticed the packed suitcase sitting on the bed. "Are you headed out?"

"Yes. I wonder if you could do me one last favour?"

Sandy smiled, and, this time, her eyes smiled, too. "Oh, of course I can. You've been so kind, listening to me rattle on about all my troubles. I'm not even sure why I told you everything. I hardly even know you, but you've been so kind."

"Sometimes you just need a friendly ear to listen, it could've been anyone."

"But it wasn't," Sandy shook her head. "It was you, and I appreciate it. You're one in a million, Mr. Merlin; I know that for sure."

I picked up a small plastic card from the desk. "I hate to impose like this, but could you return my parking pass to the office across the street? I forgot about it when I returned the rental car last night. I'd do it myself, but I'm already running late for my flight."

Sandy took the card. "That won't be a problem at all. I'll take it over right now."

"Thank you, Sandy. And don't worry, I'm sure everything will work out alright in the end."

Sandy left to return my parking pass, closing the door behind her. In truth, I had no flight to catch, but it made a believable excuse. I would miss Sandy, she was a special young lady, but I made it a point not to contact people after, well, let's just say after meddling in their lives. Further contact usually led to too many questions I didn't want to answer. Sandy had been one of my long-term projects. She was working at the Hearthfire the first time I met her over two years ago; I has been passing through the area and needed a place to stay the night. I chose the Hearthfire at random. You might say it was coincidence, but I stopped believing in coincidences ages ago.

At the time, Sandy had just received news that Will, her husband and the father of their three-year-old daughter, was missing, after doing some "work" for Ridley. She had been overstressed, overworked, and nearly ready to break when she came in to fix up my room in the morning. It took a little coaxing to draw her out of herself—but I'm good at that. Sandy and Will had moved from a small town to the big city a couple years before in hopes of making a better life for their newborn daughter. Will hadn't had much luck finding work and wound up falling in with a bad crowd, one of Ridley's numerous gangs. Ever since, Sandy had seen less and less of him and worried about him more and more.

I had listened to her story—I'm good at listening, too—and by the time she was done, there was no doubt that I had to help. I can't explain how I was so certain I needed to help, but I knew I did. From time to time, I just get these feelings that I need to help certain people. After 1,400+ years of life, I've learned to recognize the feeling and know better than to ignore it. Call it my geis or my destiny or just an unconscious instinct or whatever. As far as I'm concerned, it's my job.

I didn't exactly stay in touch with Sandy over the last two years, but I did make it a point to stay at the Hearthfire whenever I was in the area and make sure she was still doing alright. I also started quietly tracking Will, sometimes in person, sometimes by proxy, and tried to make sure he didn't do anything that would get him in serious legal trouble. When it seemed like the time was right, I suggested to my FBI buddy Ben that he should try to get Will to testify against Ridley. A few not-too-subtle reminders that his work put Sandy and his daughter at risk were enough to turn Will to our side—he really did love them both a great deal. The FBI had taken Will into protective custody before the trial, but Ridley had broken in and pulled Will right from under their noses. Sandy was trying to make ends meet with her job and not succeeding very well. That was when Dan and I stepped in to offer our help to the FBI.

Now the whole operation was nearly finished. I went back to the hotel window and slid the drapes aside once more. By this time, the van had reached the terminal and a half-dozen Federal agents were milling about the station. Sandy emerged from the hotel and crossed the street to the bus station. I quietly whispered a few words, and a sudden gust of wind swept through the bus station and tore the parking pass out of Sandy's hand. She chased after it, but the wind was faster. It looked like the parking pass was going to be swept away down the street when the wind carried it right past the window of the van. An arm reached out of the window and plucked the card out of the air. The wind died away as suddenly as it had come. The owner of the arm got out of the van and went to Sandy.

Sandy's expression went slowly from recognition to disbelief to joy. I felt a bit of a peeping Tom, watching them from up above, but they were clearly oblivious to anything except each other. Neither one of them said anything, they probably couldn't string together a coherent thought, but they held onto each other so tightly that air molecules couldn't have passed between them. I could see Will's shoulders were shaking and Sandy was laughing and crying at the same time. I closed the drapes and turned away from the window. My work was done. I had made arrangements with Ben to make sure that Will, Sandy, and their daughter were all put in Witness Protection together. Before leaving the room, I went to the mirror that hung over the desk, closed my eyes, and concentrated. Soon my eyes stared back at me from beneath a long mane of white hair, framed by an unruly, unkempt white beard. My face was craggy and lined with wrinkles, although my eyes still had their youthful sparkle. I slipped on a dusty old greatcoat, despite the day's heat, and plopped an old Breton cap on my head.

Satisfied, I picked up my bag, retrieved a lacquered blackthorn shillelagh from the closet, and stepped out into the hallway. The hotel's hallways were done in the muted drabness that's so popular with every hotel everywhere. Some teenager had already called the lift and was holding down the "Door Close" button as I approached. Just before the doors slid shut, I whipped the walking stick into the gap between the doors so quickly that the kid actually jumped back. Pretending not to notice, I shuffled into the lift with my luggage.

Apparently not completely devoid of manners, the young fellow asked me what floor I wanted. I cupped my hand to my ear and quavered, "What's that? Speak up, sonny; I'm not as young as I was this morning." The kid gave me an odd look, and I stabbed the lobby button with the end of the shillelagh along with a muttered "Heh!" The kid took another step back. I smiled beneath my beard. I shouldn't tease children, I know, but sometimes I just can't help myself. The lift slowed to a stop when it reached the lobby and the kid dashed out before the doors were finished opening. I exited at a more leisurely pace, and made for the front desk to return the room keys. Following that, I ducked out of a side door that opened into a small alley where a car was waiting. Dan got out of the driver's seat and came around to open the passenger's side door. He took my suitcase and shillelagh and stowed them in the back before returning to the driver's seat.

Dan started the engine and flashed a grin. "Everything went as planned?"

"Smooth sailing all the way."

He shifted the car into gear and pulled out into traffic. "So, where are we headed?"

"I'm not actually sure. I never made any plans past getting Will and Sandy back together."

"Have you seen today's paper yet?"

"No," I said, "Why?" Dan reached into the back and retrieved the world news section of a newspaper, which he handed to me. My breath escaped in a slow, "Oh my…" I looked over at Dan, who was smiling broadly. "Well, I guess we've been in America long enough, don't you think?"

"I took the liberty of booking a flight for us," he replied. "How long since you've been back?"

"We were in England just last year, remember?"

"Not back to England."

"Oh."

"Well?" Dan prompted. "I know it's been at least thirty-five years, because you haven't been back since I've been with you."

"It's been a lot longer than that. It's been a long time since there was anything to make it worth going back."

Dan looked at me with a concerned expression. "We don't have to go."

"Yes, I think we do. At least, I do."

"Well that settles it. We're going."

I could tell from Dan's voice there would be no question of his staying behind. We didn't talk much during the rest of the drive to the airport. I picked up the newspaper and stared at the front page. There was a large colour photo accompanying the story. It was an aerial shot of an archaeological dig site. People were swarming over the areas of bare earth and larger shapes were just becoming discernible in the cleared areas. Above the photo, the headline shouted its message in big, bold print:

**CAMELOT UNEARTHED!**

COLCHESTER, UK—Archaeologists are flocking from all corners of the world to a dig site north of Colchester, which scholars now believe contains the ruins of Camelot. "Although Arthurian scholars have never out-right denied the existence of Camelot, most of us—myself included—thought that if it existed at all, it was an exaggeration of a much more humble location," says Winsleydale Stolp (M.A., PhD, F.S.A, M.B.S.), sitting chair of Cowcross University's department of history. "I can't tell you how excited I am to be proved wrong," he adds.

Colchester has been posited as a source of the Camelot mythos by many historians, citing its location on top of the ancient Roman fortress city Camulodunum. Camulodunum was, itself, originally a Celtic fortress before **(see Camelot, D8)**

I put the newspaper back down on the seat without bothering to read the rest of the story. I didn't need a bunch of professors and history scholars to convince me that Camelot had been rediscovered. The rest of the world may have forgotten where Camelot was, but I never had. I cherished the time I'd been able to spend with Camelot and her people. And with Arthur, my dear Arthur. Going back to Camelot after it had been abandoned and left empty simply hurt too much. A place that was as full of life and love as Arthur's Camelot shouldn't be allowed to wither away like a dead tree or, worse, be picked to the bone by looters and scavengers. Time, however, is relentless, remorseless, and infinitely patient. Eventually, even Camelot had to end and, with it, my last tangible connection to Arthur.

I was startled out of my reverie by Dan's announcement that we had arrived at the airport. I looked around and saw that Dan had pulled up to the terminal so I could get out before he returned the car to the rental agency. I retrieved my belongings from the back of the car, overriding Dan's protestations that he should handle the luggage. While waiting for Dan to return, I studied the interior of the terminal. Airports always remind me of something Douglas Adams once wrote: "It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression, 'As pretty as an airport.'" I considered the airports that I'd seen in movies and on television that are bright, cheerful places, even fun places. These incredible airports have helpful, cheerful staff, and there's probably some live music in the waiting area. I've never managed to find one of those airports in real life. I always get stuck in the airports designed by people who deride M.C. Escher for being too restricted by the conventions of realism and decorated by a horde of depressed artists taking Quaaludes for pick-me-ups.

When Dan returned from the rental counter, I moved toward the end of the ticket line. Dan raised his eyebrows and glanced pointedly at the sign directing people toward private flights. "When you said you'd arranged a flight," I grumbled, "I assumed you meant a commercial flight."

Dan just took my bag and went in the direction indicated on the sign. "And I assumed you'd want to get to England as quickly as possible." He glanced back to make sure I was following and added, "Besides, you'd never get that shillelagh of yours through airport security."

I assumed an expression of mock horror. "They'd take a simple walking stick from a feeble old man?"

Dan snorted. "Feeble, my arse."


	3. First Interlude

**Interlude –****August 1975 **

Look around you. See America's Pacific Northwest in the year 1975. See lush forests, rugged coast, rolling green hills, and snow-capped mountains, still largely unpopulated. It is the perfect place to hide away from the world. At least, that's what the young man hiking through the forests of western Washington had hoped it would be. He stopped and looked up at the morning sun filtering through the lush green branches of the treetops overhead, brushing a bit of overly long brown hair out of his eyes. He leaned against his staff of gnarled white ash for a moment while he got his bearings. His clothes are worn but sturdy and well-kept. Unkempt shoulder-length hair and several days' growth of stubble on his chin give him a rugged and not unattractive appearance. Although he has been hiking uphill for quite a distance, he's not particularly overheated or out of breath. The morning is refreshingly cool, and he's in good shape for a man of his age.

Merlin studied the sun to make sure he knew which direction he was going before continuing to hike uphill. He was aware, of course, that he was being followed by two unseen observers. They had been following him for some time now. He wasn't at all worried by his mysterious shadows, but he was beginning to get annoyed. He had hidden himself away in this forest to get away from people, away from civilization. He refused to care anymore about humanity's childish antics. If the nations of the world wanted to destroy each other, he would stand back and let them go at it, no matter how many innocent lives might be crushed in the process. That was what he told himself. That was what he kept telling himself and would go on telling himself until he started to believe it.

When Merlin had first found his little mountain retreat, he'd told himself he just needed a little while to rest. He'd return to his work when he felt ready again. Just a short rest. At the end of his fifth year of self-imposed isolation, he finally admitted to himself that he had given up hope. He had spent the best part of fifteen centuries trying to help humanity grow beyond its base desires and more barbaric tendencies. After World War I he had tried so hard to help humans come together in peace. Merlin had been so certain that the Great War would prove to be a crucible which would forge the world into a better place. Instead, in spite of all his efforts, he had been helpless to stop a second world war from engulfing the globe.

World War II had left Merlin changed. There were too many friends gone before their time, too many lines crossed which he never thought he would cross. The inner fire that drove him and kept him going had been extinguished. Despairing of ever making a difference in the world, Merlin had lost his way. For the first time since Arthur's death, Merlin wasn't sure of the way forward. Everything seemed so pointless. After the war had ended, Merlin retreated away from civilization. He made his home in the forest in a small network of natural volcanic caves, growing and hunting his own food, abandoning human contact. That had been thirty years ago. Since 1945, Merlin's wards and spells had kept humankind out of his life. Until today.

This morning, Merlin had sensed two men crossing the boundaries of what he thought of as 'his' land, breaking through the spells that should've kept people away from the area. When Merlin had gone out to investigate, the strangers had carefully stayed away from him and out of sight, but, when he left, they had followed him. To his great annoyance, they had been following him all morning. Merlin had walked out in a wide circuitous path, making a show of checking his various traps and snares for any small game. They were all empty; the hour was growing late; and Merlin was getting impatient.

When he found an opportune clearing in the forest, Merlin quickly ducked behind a tree and muttered, "_Cuddio mi yn i cysgod._" He clutched his staff close to himself. The tree's shadow appeared to grow darker and surrounded Merlin, folding him in darkness until he was nearly invisible. Shortly afterwards, two young men, perhaps in their twenties, walked into the clearing. They looked like hiking enthusiasts in dark khaki trousers and tee-shirts of muted greens and browns. Hikers, however, weren't usually so well armed. One of them carried a large-ish dagger and had one more tucked into his belt. The other had an arrow nocked into his bow and a quiver strapped over his shoulder. Merlin noted with some interest that the bow was not one of the compound bows, which had more-or-less replaced older, wooden bows these days; it was a genuine wooden recurve bow.

Both of the men were tall, around six feet, and had brown hair cut just a bit longer than a military crew cut and dark eyes. The one carrying the bow was solidly built with broad shoulders and brawny arms. The one with the daggers was much more slender, almost slight. They moved silently through the woods, barely disturbing the leaves at their feet as they walked. One of them, the one with the bow, held up his hand, and the other stopped and looked questioningly at his companion. The one with the bow spoke in the barest of whispers; Merlin, standing less than five feet away, had to strain to hear what was said. "Have we lost him? I can't see him." He was the older of the two by several years, Merlin judged.

The younger one, carrying the daggers, looked down at their feet, studying the ground ahead of them and around the clearing. He frowned. "I'm not sure." He spoke just as quietly as his older companion. "He hardly leaves any tracks. He moves almost like one of us."

The one with the bow looked around the clearing; his eyes swept directly over the spot Merlin was standing without noticing anything out of the ordinary. "Come on," he whispered to the other, "he must be up ahead."

Merlin waited until they were almost out the other side of the clearing with their backs to him before stepping out of the shadows. "Why are you following me?" He held his staff across his body, like an old quarterstaff. Both of the men spun to face him. In a single fluid motion, the bowman had the arrow drawn back in his bow and was pointing it at Merlin's chest. The younger one pulled the other dagger from his belt and slid into a defensive stance, poised for a sudden strike. Merlin glared at the intruders, unimpressed. "Well?"

The bowman glared back at Merlin. "Drop the stick."

Merlin shrugged and dropped his staff on the ground beside him. He folded his arms across his chest. "Why are you following me?" he asked again.

Again, the older of the two was the one who spoke. "We'll ask the questions here, not you." His voice had a sharp Irish accent which added an extra touch of pique to his words—although that may just have been because he was angry that his quarry had turned the tables on him. He adjusted his aim so the arrow pointed directly between Merlin's eyes. "And you'll answer them if you value your life."

Merlin rolled his eyes at the bad cliché. "Watch a lot of gangster movies, do you?" The bowman said nothing. "Fine," Merlin sighed, "Let's hear your questions, then."

"Who are you?"

With more than little cheek, Merlin replied, "A crazy old hermit." The younger man chuckled at that.

The bowman was less amused. "You don't look so old to me."

Merlin smiled wryly. "You're basing that judgement on what? Your vast, oh, let's say, twenty-seven years of experience?" He looked the bowman over head to toe. "No," he reconsidered, "make that twenty-six. Don't be so quick to assume everything that's plain to your eyes is necessarily true." Merlin turned to study the younger one.

The man had an amused grin on his face when he spoke for the first time. "Twenty-three," he said, pointing to himself, "in case you were wondering." Like the other man, he also had an Irish accent, but, unlike the other, it softened his voice, smoothing the edges and adding a soft, lyrical lilt.

"Let's cut to the chase, yes?" Merlin said. "You walked through my wards like they weren't there, so I know you two are something a bit more than average. Given the dearth of magic in the modern age, you're probably trying to figure out who or what put up wards like that in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Am I close?"

The glare on the bowman's face was enough to tell Merlin he was on the right track. The younger one spoke up again. "We're also a bit curious why you're living in our home."

That actually surprised Merlin. "Your home? The caves? Those were empty, and I didn't see any sign that people had lived here. I certainly wouldn't have moved in if I thought people were going to be around."

"We travel a lot," the younger man replied. "I've never been to caves myself, but it's where my people used to live, back when we were in this area."

"Your people?" Merlin asked. The bowman shot his younger companion a warning look. Merlin ignored this. "I know for a fact that no one else has lived in those caves for thirty years."

"How would you know that?" snapped the bowman. "Based on your vast," he made a show of studying Merlin, "oh, let's say, twenty-five years of experience? You weren't even born thirty years ago."

Merlin gave the bowman an annoyed look. "Didn't we already cover this bit? Don't judge a book by its cover." He addressed himself to the younger man. "Tell me about your people, if you don't mind."

"Actually, we're sort of a private lot," he told Merlin. "Prefer to stay out of the public eye." He spoke with a refreshing candor, quite unlike his companion. Merlin found himself liking the fellow in spite of himself. If they had met under other circumstances, he thought, they might have been friends.

"Believe me," Merlin said, "that is something I can…" He had been about to say that he could understand when a thought suddenly struck him. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. It surprised him so much he exclaimed aloud. "Oh!"

"Enough of this!" snapped the bowman. "He already knows about the caves," he said to the younger man, "Who knows what else he's learned. I say I put an arrow in him and be done with it."

Merlin felt his disappointment like a palpable force. These were the last people he would have expected to shoot first and ask questions later. When he spoke, he sounded so wearied that the younger one glanced at him with concern. "When did the druids stop valuing a human life?"

Both men stared at him in shock. The bowman sneered and said, "When others decided our own lives had no value." He took a step closer. "And you know too much." He let go of the arrow, which was still pointed directly between Merlin's eyes. What happened next happened too fast for his eyes to process. Before the arrow had even cleared the bow, he heard his younger companion shouting at him to stop. Merlin's eyes gleamed for an instant, and a brilliant white flash of light prevented him from seeing anything else. When his vision cleared, he saw Merlin standing before him, staff in hand, quite unhurt, and heard his companion shouting in pain.

Had the bowman been able to see everything that had happened, he would have seen that Merlin had held out an open hand, moving with supernatural speed, as soon as the arrow had been let loose. The staff laying on the ground flew up into the waiting hand. When Merlin held the staff up high, it glowed with a light of such blinding intensity that no one could see Merlin point at the arrow and speak a command. The arrow deflected in mid-air, just as if it had bounced off a rock wall, and sped away from Merlin. However, in the blinding light, not even Merlin had noticed that the young man with the daggers had dropped his knives and lunged forward to try and stop the bowman. Merlin had deflected the arrow into what he thought was empty space between the two men. When the light cleared, the young man stood staring at Merlin, his face white. The arrow had plunged deep into the flesh of his thigh.

Merlin stared back at him, horrified at what he'd done. "I'm sorry!" he stammered. "I didn't mean to!" The young man collapsed to the ground with a cry of agony.

"Brand!" The bowman dropped his bow and knelt by the other's side. "Brand, how bad is it?" The younger man, apparently named Brand, clutched at his leg, blood began to leak from between his fingers.

"Step aside," Merlin commanded. "Let me help."

The bowman glared back at Merlin and sputtered, "You!?"

"I never meant to hurt anyone," protested Merlin. "I can help him."

"I think you've done enough," he snapped. "Who the bleeding hell _are_ you?"

Merlin held up his hands, trying to show he meant no harm. "Do the druids still remember the name of Emrys?"

That got the bowman's attention. "Emrys the Immortal, survived from Camelot into the modern age?" He shook his head angrily. "That's a myth."

Gently, Merlin said, "So is Camelot, but you know that to be true." The archer's hostility seemed to be wavering. "Let me help him," Merlin repeated a third time. "I can have him—"

"Connor," Brand grabbed the bowman's arm urgently. "Whether he's Emrys or not, he has magic. The clan must be told."

"No," the bowman, Connor, replied. "You can't travel on that leg. It's three days' walk back to camp; you'll never make it."

"Which is why you must go alone," insisted Brand. "Bring back help."

Connor set his jaw stubbornly. "I won't leave you. It'll be almost a full week before help arrives."

"No, really, I can just-" Merlin tried to say that he could simply heal Brand, but Brand cut him off again.

"You must. This wound is not fatal; it will heal. I will stay with Emrys. If he really is who he says he is, he will be able to tend to my injury." Clearly, Connor still didn't like the idea.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Merlin exclaimed. "Just let me—"

When Brand interrupted Merlin a third time, he appeared to be speaking to reassure his brother, but he stared directly into Merlin's eyes when he spoke. "Trust me," he spoke firmly, "I will be fine here. Go; get help."

Connor reluctantly agreed to return to the rest of their clan and bring back help. He wouldn't leave until he had extracted a promise from Merlin to care for Brand as though his life depended on it and warned Brand not to trust his host further than he could throw him. Only then did he reluctantly strike out downhill for their camp.

After Connor left, Merlin sat down next to Brand. He looked at Brand, whose face was still alarmingly pale. "You know I could simply have healed your leg." It wasn't a question.

"Aye," was Brand's calm reply, "I do."

Merlin's expression was one of guarded curiosity. "And you stopped me, so Connor would leave you here."

"Aye," he looked up at Merlin, but his eyes seemed vague and unfocused.

"Why?"

"He wouldn't have left…wouldn't have left…if he'd known…would've tried to hurt you." He sounded drowsy, like he was falling asleep. With an effort, Brand lifted his head, and Merlin realized the true extent of his injuries. When Brand had fallen, a small, sharp rock had struck the base of his skull. Merlin could see several pieces of bone in the deep wound on the back of Brand's head.

"My god!" cried Merlin. "Why didn't you say!?"

"Can't heal that so easy…can you?" Brand's eyes fluttered, closed, and didn't open again.

"No…no," Merlin felt under Brand's jaw for a pulse. He closed his eyes in relief. "Thank god," he breathed. "Not much time, though," he spoke to himself. He stood up and closed his eyes, spreading his hands over the prone body at his feet. "Here goes nothing." Taking a deep breath, he said, "_Cymryd fy amser, gadewch iddo gadw'r hyn o bryd._" At his feet, Brand stilled. There wasn't a twitch of an eye, not the slightest rise and fall of his chest to suggest he was alive. Merlin opened his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. He held out his other hand and the staff flew into it from across the clearing.

"Boy," he gasped, leaning heavily on the staff, "That one really takes it out of you." He stood still for a moment, catching his breath. "Alright," he nodded, "to work, to work. Not a good idea to stop time on someone for too long." He waved vaguely upward, adding, "_Codi._" Brand, frozen in an isolated moment of time, floated up from the ground. Merlin reached down and picked up the stone that had cracked Brand's skull. He studied the stone before he slipped it into his pocket. He started to hike uphill, still leaning on the staff for support. Brand drifted behind Merlin, several feet off the ground, following close behind him on his way up the mountain.

Merlin kept going until the forest started to thin and the ground grew rockier. He continued hiking up until he came a rocky promontory. Merlin slipped into a cleft between three rocks. Brad drifted in after Merlin, and both Merlin and Brand disappeared from view. Inside the mountain, Merlin stood at the mouth of a long, dark cave. "_Goleuo._" A small orb of shimmering light coalesced out of the darkness and hovered in the air over Merlin's left shoulder. It lit up the cave with a gentle light that banished the shadows far down the passageway. Merlin walked quickly, very familiar with the underground tunnels after living in them for so long.

The passage branched and split, sometimes opened into large caves. Merlin kept going until he reached a small room. A niche had been carved into one of the rock walls large enough for a rough straw mattress. Merlin gestured to the mattress, and Brand settled down onto the mattress, still unmoving. A table was set up along the opposite wall, covered with a number of books, a large mortar and pestle, and bottles and phials filled with all manner of liquids. Merlin went over to the table and began to work. Dried herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling. Periodically, Merlin would reach up and pluck a handful of herbs from one bunch or another and begin working the leaves in the mortar.

Merlin lost track of time while he worked. It was hard to keep track of time in these sunless caves, anyway. A glance at his watch told him that it was late in the evening when he finally stopped his work. He poured a thick, black, oily liquid into an empty phial and studied it. "This had better work." Reaching into his pocket, he extracted the fist-sized rock on which Brand had fallen and set it on the workbench. Carefully, Merlin poured a tiny drop of the foul black potion onto the rock where Brand's blood had stained it, murmured a spell softly under his breath, and waited. The potion in the phial slowly turned from pitch black to clear ruby red.

"Good," Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't think I have enough feverfew to make a second batch of this." He set the potion on the workbench and went across to the mattress where Brand lay frozen. Making a fist, he said, "_Tynnu._" When he opened his fist, a bloody arrowhead lay in his palm. Smiling with satisfaction, Merlin pulled the arrow's shaft out of Brand's thigh. Without the arrowhead, the smooth wood slid easily out of the flesh. "Sorry about this," he reached for Brand's belt buckle, "I don't normally move this fast on a first date." He undid Brand's belt and trousers and carefully peeled the cloth away from the wound in Brand's thigh.

Merlin left briefly and returned with a basin of hot water and some linens. After bathing and cleaning the arrow wound, he applied some iodine to sterilize the wound and wrapped it tightly with long linen bandages. Then he turned his attention to the head wound. Floating Brand into the air again, Merlin turned him over to see the back of his head. Blood from the wound had soaked into the back of Brand's shirt before Merlin had frozen the lad. Merlin didn't want to move Brand's arms, lest he jostle his head and cause further damage, so he pulled a small knife from his belt and cut away Brand's shirt.

Dipping another linen cloth into the wash basin, Merlin began to clean the blood off of Brand's body. He studied Brand as he did so and couldn't help noticing that, other than being on death's doorstep, dying and covered in blood, the boy was actually quite beautiful. By the time Merlin had finished, the water in the basin was almost as red as the blood he washed from Brand's pale skin. Finally, he wrapped the top of Brand's head in linen bandages and lay him back down on the mattress.

Last of all, Merlin retrieved the phial of red liquid from his workbench. Concentrating deeply, he released the magic holding Brand frozen in time. Merlin put his hand against Brand's chest; he could feel a heartbeat, rapid, wild, and dangerously erratic. He poured the potion into Brand's mouth, massaging his throat to make sure it was swallowed, and said, "_Rhwymo'r asgwrn, adfer y cnawd._" Tenderly feeling the back of Brand's head through the bandages, Merlin was relieved to feel firm bone where before there had only been soft, damaged tissue. He patted Brand on the shoulder, "You'll be just fine, lad."

Brand would probably sleep until morning, but Merlin went and fetched a plain cotton robe for him, laying it on a chair near the mattress, just in case he woke up and wondered where his clothes had gone. He also found a soft sheepskin blanket, which he lay over Brand to protect his modesty. Additionally, he lit an oil lamp and hung it from a ring near the door, so Brand wouldn't wake to complete darkness. Gathering up his supplies, Merlin left Brand to rest peacefully.

After putting away all the supplies, Merlin made his way to a cave not far from where Brand lay resting. Unlike the small cave where Merlin had left Brand, this cavern was so large that the other side couldn't be seen in the glow of Merlin's light. This cave was much more humid than the others, too, because of a large, underground lake that dominated most of the cave. It was a natural hot spring, heated by volcanic action. Steam rose from the surface of the lake and filled the cave, filtering out through vents hidden in the stone above.

Merlin shed his clothes, folded them neatly, and lay them on a flat rock near the cave's entrance. He sat down on the ledge that hung over the lake and dove beneath its surface. The glistening light over his shoulder followed him beneath the suface, illuminating the underwater landscape. Merlin came back up some distance from where he dove and swam out to a particular spot on the cave wall.

Beneath the surface of the water, a rocky ledge stuck out from the wall at just the right height for Merlin to sit and rest with just his head out of the water. A bundle of cloth had been fixed to the wall above the water. Merlin lay his head back on the bundle, which was softer than it appeared, having been stuffed with goose down. He closed his eyes and let the heat of the water draw the weariness from his bones, wash the dirt from his body, and reinvigorate him. Several times he caught himself falling asleep and shook his head, trying to wake himself. After the fourth time, he decided that it really wouldn't hurt anything to grab a quick nap. It had been a long day, and Brand would be sleeping for hours yet. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a well-deserved rest.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Present Day**

_A lifetime is too long to be alone.  
Once shorn of love, the mind will turn black.  
No man's heart is made of stone._

_As hard as he tries, all good work sown,  
Within his heart his faith starts to crack.  
A lifetime is too long to be alone._

_He searches for a way to atone.  
He finds the needle in the haystack.  
No man's heart is made of stone._

_Another love with tenderness shown,  
Too great to hide, too strong to hold back.  
A lifetime is too long to be alone._

_Loyalty and guilt cast a pall tone,  
And from these comes a deadly setback.  
No man's heart is made of stone._

_Too late he sees with sorrowful groan;  
Thus he yields to the comforting black.  
A lifetime is too long to be alone.  
No man's heart is made of stone._

I hadn't realized that I had dozed off until I jerked awake with a cry. The sleek interior of the jet Dan had chartered wasn't familiar to me, and it took me a moment to remember we were in the middle of a trans-Atlantic flight. I always tend to doze off on long flights. It's not that I find plane travel so relaxing; it's just hard for me to sit for so long without much to do. Dan, sitting across the aisle from me, looked concerned. "I'm fine," I assured him, "just another dream." I took a shaky breath.

Dan didn't look convinced. "You were muttering in your sleep. You didn't sound fine. Do you want something to drink?" Without waiting for me to answer, he got up and started making a cup of tea at the small bar at the end of the plane. "What were you dreaming about?"

"Same thing as last time…I think. The details are still pretty sketchy."

"You think it's got something to do with Camelot?"

"I wouldn't rule it out," I admitted, "The timing does seem pretty coincidental." Outside the window the sun was rising over a vast expanse of water. Or was it setting? "What time is it?"

"In Chicago, it's a bit past 6pm," Dan replied. "In London, it's a bit past midnight…tomorrow." He looked out the window while he poured the tea into a delicate china cup. "I've got no idea what time it is here—or where here is—but I'd guess it close to 9pm."

"Ah!" I waved away Dan's over-analysis of the question. "Let's just stick with the time in England, shall we?"

Dan grinned and handed me the cup of tea. "I swear you get grumpier when you're old," he commented. I gave him a knock-it-off-you-young-whippersnapper look. "We'll touch down in England around two in the morning," Dan added, "We've probably got a few hours left in the air."

"We're making pretty good time, then," I observed.

"One of the advantages of a private flight," Dan pointed out. "And you wanted to take a commercial flight," he teased. "Flying commercial would've taken almost twice as long. By the time we slept off the jet lag, we'd have lost an entire day. And, honestly, Dad, it's not like you can't afford it."

"True enough," I conceded. Compound interest can do amazing things when your bank accounts are centuries old.

"Dad," Dan's voice was quieter, more serious, "what happened to Camelot?"

I pondered his question, not sure how to answer. Finally I simply said, "Time happened. Years passed by; people forgot about Camelot. Eventually it was just abandoned."

Dan wasn't satisfied. "A castle like that doesn't just get lost, not completely."

"No, you're right. I took measures to hide the castle and protect it. It was about six hundred years after Arthur's death. The kings of Albion," I shook my head, "They were a bare shadow of the kings of old. After Arthur, Gwen was the only one who seemed up to the task of keeping his vision of Camelot alive. When Gwen passed, Camelot began a slow decline into ruin. By the time of King Æthelred, popularly known as Æthelred the Unready, Camelot was just a name. The city and the castle were long since abandoned. Æthelred's reign was not a good one. We spent years trying to repel a Viking invasion only to lose control of the country to the Danes. Æthelred managed to expel the occupying Danes a couple years before he died and his son Edmund "Ironside" followed him to the throne."

"Wait a minute," Dan frowned, trying to remember something. "I've heard of King Edmund before…isn't he the one who was assassinated with an arrow shot up his bum? An archer was hiding in his toilet, right?"

"Yep," I groaned, "That's the one. King Edmund's reign barely lasted six months. Five months in, he lost half the country when one of his Earls betrayed him to the Danes. Not long after that, he started scrounging about for every penny he could lay his hands on. He wanted to raise an army to retake the country, but that takes quite a bit of capital. He didn't have nearly enough funds and, getting desperate, he turned his eye to Camelot.

"The castle may have been empty, but there were still a lot of valuable items left in the castle. Edmund began emptying the castle, selling everything for scrap, destroying Arthur's legacy. It made me furious. I confronted Edmund about what he was doing, ordered him to stop. He refused. I decided that I had to protect Camelot. I wove an enchantment around the castle and the entire city. In a single night, I sank the castle into the earth, where no one could disturb it. The entire city vanished overnight. Edmund was furious. He spent a week trying to track me down and kill me. I never found out for sure how he died, there were a lot of stories, most much less interesting than taking an arrow up his backside. I suspect he was so focused on hunting me, he forgot to watch his own back and his enemies were able to get in and assassinate him.

"At any rate," I concluded, "I haven't been back to Camelot since that night."

"But that was ages ago!" Dan's eyes were wide; it reminded me of when he was just a child and I would tell him bedtime stories about brave Arthur and his chivalrous nights. "You hid the whole city?"

"No one was in it at the time," I clarified. "In some ways, I suppose it was a bit selfish, but I had good reason to hide Camelot away from the world. At the time, there was too great a risk it would fall into the wrong hands."

"And now?" asked Dan, suddenly wary. "Are we going to Colchester to take a walk down memory lane or do you intend to put a stop to the excavation?"

"I've no intention of interfering with anything," I said. I saw Dan relax visibly. "I don't think it poses any danger now. It could've been unearthed a long time ago, but I never wanted to try and restore it."

"Why? Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

"It's because of something Gwen told me, long after Arthur's death. She said that Camelot had ceased to be a just a place and had grown into an idea that couldn't be contained by stone walls. By the time I buried the castle, the idea of Camelot had long since outgrown the castle of Camelot. Besides," Dan waited expectantly for me to finish, "it never seemed right to try and restore it without Arthur."

Dan smiled fondly. "I get that." There didn't seem to be anything else to add. I took another drink of the tea and closed my eyes as its warmth spread through me. "Well, I'm glad someone finally found Camelot," declared Dan. "You've told me so much about it, I practically feel like it was my home, too. I'm excited to see it for myself, even if it is a bit the worse for wear."

"Just don't get too excited," I warned. "I'd rather not draw too much attention in the middle of a crowd of medieval scholars."

"Fair enough. I'll try to control my urge to run up to the first professor I see and tell him that my dad is the mythical wizard Merlin."

Laughing, I asked, "Are you sure? You might make the front page of the _Mirror_. I can see it now," with my hands I framed the imaginary headline in the air in front of me, "Merlin Lives! Read on for details of our exclusive interview with his adopted son, currently a guest of the Royal Hospital's psychiatric ward." I looked over at Dan. "You might get a cute nurse."

Dan rolled his eyes. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Suit yourself." I drained the last of the tea from the cup.

"Here," Dan offered, "Let me get that for you." I missed the mischievous tone in his voice or I would've tried to stop him. Dan put out his hand to grab the cup, or so I thought. Instead, he said, "Doddy me!," in a ridiculously sepulchral, low voice. Sickly orange sparks flickered in his eyes, like weak coals without enough fuel. The cup was wrenched out of my grasp and shot toward the back of the cabin and shattered against the wall. I raised an eyebrow. Dan's cheeks flushed red. "That didn't work quite like I'd planned," he muttered.

"I believe the words you were looking for were…" I held out my own hand, "_Dod i mi_." I spoke quietly. The fragments of the china cup sailed through the air and began a slow orbit around my open hand. "Not that it would have mattered. I've told you, you're putting too much emphasis on the words. The words spoken don't matter as much as the heart of the one speaking." Almost as an afterthought, I added, "_Dychwelyd_."

Dan watched the shattered pieces fuse seamlessly together in the air and drop into my open palm, whole once again. "Gosh," he sighed, "I'm never gonna get this."

"Don't get down on yourself. I don't know any other living person who could even manage to throw the cup across the cabin."

"Yeah," Dan admitted, "But, when you were my age you were already working with really complex stuff." He flopped back in his seat. "Heck, you could work magic without spells practically as soon as you were born."

"I was born with magic," I reminded him, "It's a part of me. It's different for you. People who weren't born with magic had to study for their whole lives to learn to use it, and many people couldn't use it at all, no matter how much they worked."

"Then why do you bother trying to teach me?"

It was a question I had asked myself many times before. Truthfully, I didn't know why I was trying to teach Dan magic. The talent for magic had died out of the human race. As far as I knew, I was the last natural-born sorcerer; any others were long-since dead. Since no one had seriously studied magic, real magic, for centuries, I wasn't even sure if people _could_ use magic anymore. Yet, for some reason, I wanted to teach Dan what I knew of magic.

"Seriously, why are you trying to teach me?" Dan asked again.

"Because," I said slowly, "I wish my father had been able to teach me what he knew." Dan was quiet, listening. "I want you to have what I didn't."

Dan got up and hugged me across the shoulders. "Dad, you've always been here for me; you've taught me everything I know. I couldn't have wished for a better father or a better teacher."

"Does that mean you still want to learn magic?"

"You'd better believe it does!"

"Alright then," I held up the formerly shattered teacup, "Pay attention. We're going to try and lift the cup."

It's hard to explain how magic works to people who can't use it, but I'll try. Imagine that you have a large sheet laid out flat. Let's say that the space above the sheet is our world. Underneath the sheet is a huge supply of…let's call it "energy," for lack of a better word. The energy is just below our world all the time, always there, but no one can use it because they can't get through the sheet. Sorcerers can reach into the sheet and make an opening, let that energy into the world and direct it, do things with it.

What was it that Terry Pratchett said about analogies? Any good analogy makes a complex subject easy to understand by comparing it to a much simpler concept, while at the same time being completely wrong in every possible way. Well, if that's true, then the sheet idea is a very good analogy, indeed.

\- x - x - x - x - x -

The sun shone brightly on the Essex countryside outside Colchester. The sky was brilliantly blue without a cloud to be seen. The farmland was lush, bright green with fresh, young crops just coming up out of the soil. Sheep wandered aimlessly through meadows of grass that swayed gently in a slight breeze. Dan was driving at speed down the A12 with the windows down so the fresh air blew through the Volkswagen he and I had rented back at Heathrow. We'd arrived in London, as Dan had predicted, just a bit after two in the morning. After stopping at an inn for a few hours' sleep and a quick breakfast, we hit the road to Colchester.

I shouted to make myself heard over the roar of the wind, "Are you sure we landed in England?" Dan threw a quizzical look at me. "Where's the rain?" I clarified. "I've never seen the weather this nice in the middle of April."

"Haven't you?" replied Dan. "That's not the way you used to tell it."

I realized he was right. Back in the days of Camelot summers were always pleasant and winters were (mostly) mild. "It's probably just coincidence," I insisted. "Enjoy it while you can; tomorrow the weather'll probably be typically English."

Dan shrugged. "We'll see."

The weather was gorgeous, though. I closed my eyes to better enjoy the gentle warmth of the sun. This was my land, the place where I belonged. However far I had roamed away, however long it been since I'd returned, I remembered the feel of this place…my home. It was familiar, comforting. It reminded me of simpler times.

"Dad!"

Dan sounded almost annoyed. "What?" I opened my eyes and looked around for some looming threat. Nothing appeared to have changed, although my voice seemed higher than I thought it should be.

"Dad, you've got to pay attention." He flipped down the passenger side sun visor so I could see myself in the small mirror on its back.

"Oh," I tilted my head to a better viewing angle, "I see." The beard and mane of flowing white hair were gone. I looked young, younger than I had in a long time. My hair was dark and tousled and my ears stuck out dramatically. I was as young as I had been back when I first came to Camelot. "Sorry," I said, "Familiar places tend to draw out familiar shapes." I closed my eyes and returned my appearance to a more advanced age. I put a hand to my jaw and felt the long beard again.

Dan looked away and blinked. "Ugh. It always makes me a bit sick to watch you do that."

"Why do think I close my eyes when I do it?" I pointed out.

"I thought you didn't have to focus on maintaining any particular age."

"I don't, but, sometimes, when I get lost in my own head, I just sort of…I don't know, drift back into whatever age I'm thinking about."

"Well, be careful," Dan warned again. "You're the one who's worried about attracting too much attention around Camelot, remember?"

I could still feel a pull inside me, a yearning to let go of the aging spell again. "It might be better, under the circumstances, if I just stayed young while we're here."

"You've never had trouble controlling it before," Dan was not convinced. "Maybe this trip is a bad idea. We're not even there yet and it's already affecting you."

"Don't be silly, we flew half-way around the world to get here, we're not going back now."

"Okay, so you'll be, what, my younger brother?"

"Younger cousin, I think. You'll be more than ten years older than me, the age gap will be more believable as cousins." I gave in to the pull and let the age flow out me until it stopped of its own accord. Once again, I looked young. I examined my face in the visor's mirror, working my jaw and getting used to the new look. "So why are two young cousins interested in the excavation of Camelot?"

Dan pondered for a while before suggesting, "Amateur historians?"

"I like it," I decided, "It gives us an excuse to nose around a bit."

As Camelot slowly emptied in the decades following Arthur's death, the population moved south, eventually coming together around a fortress (already ancient even in those days) which would eventually become the modern city of Colchester. The castle of Camelot was a bit north of modern Colchester, nearly on the border with Suffolk. As soon as Dan turned off the highway, we started to see cars parked along the side of the road. The closer we got to the dig site, the more cars we started to see. Apparently we weren't the only ones interested in getting a look at the ruins of Camelot. About a quarter-mile out, Dan saw an empty spot on the shoulder and parked in it. There didn't seem much chance of finding a better spot, so we decided to walk in the rest of the way.

The country around Camelot used to be forest as far as you could see in any direction. These days, it was mostly open, developed areas, but there was still a bit of wooded land around the castle itself. As we strolled through the woods, I tried to orient myself. I knew where we were, geographically, but the land had changed so much that it was hard to reconcile it with my memories. When we came to a large open meadow, though, I knew exactly where we were; it had hardly changed after all this time. The large fenced-off area in the middle was new. The dig site was surrounded by a pre-fab, mobile fence to keep the public at a safe distance. There was a surprisingly large crowd clustered around the fence. Clearly the idea of Camelot still held a special place in peoples' hearts.

Only a small amount of the castle had been excavated out of the earth. It seemed strange to stand on the ground and look down at the towers which used to soar high above my head. I smiled when I spotted Gaius' old tower. One of the tallest in the castle, it was, naturally, one of the first to have been dug out. I nudged Dan and pointed to the tower, "You see that tall one?" I spoke quietly, so no one around us would overhear. "That was Gaius' tower."

"I never thought I'd actually get to see this place," Dan said. "That's actually where you lived?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "See the peaks of those two roofs a bit behind it?"

"The ones they've just barely started digging out?"

"That's right. Those are both large, round towers. The one furthest from us is where the royal quarters were. Arthur's chambers are about half-way down. The great hall is in that large open area where they haven't found anything yet."

"Wow…I mean, just…" Dan was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "Just, wow!" We walked slowly around the perimeter of the dig site, watching the workers uncovering the castle. "It's so much bigger than I expected," Dan commented.

"It could house the whole populace of the outlying city and enough supplies to outlast months of siege," I pointed out. "How small did you think it would be?"

We were coming up on an opening in the fence where a couple men stood in front of a barrier gate to keep out anyone who didn't belong. Dan looked at me expectantly and asked, "Are we gonna try to get in?"

"I'm not sure if we need to," I replied. "It doesn't look like they're digging up any trouble."

"Yeah, but don't you want to take a look around?" He looked at the castle excitedly.

"Dan, there's not even enough of the castle exposed to make it worth exploring."

"Please?" He was almost begging.

I relented a bit. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt…" Dan instantly brightened up; I held up a warning finger to stop him. "Not yet, though."

Dan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Let's wait until they've dug out more of the castle. There's no point going in when all we'll see is the top floor of the tallest towers."

"I suppose that's true," he grudgingly admitted.

"We'll stay in the area for a while," I was starting to warm up to the idea, "Maybe find someplace to rent for a few months. Who knows, maybe we can even find a way to attach ourselves to the dig so we don't have to sneak in."

We walked on past the entrance. When Dan gave the guards a friendly wave, they smiled and waved back but didn't make any move to leave their posts. I stopped and leaned against the fence, staring at the castle. I could sense something, see something in my mind's eye. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. It was close…very close, but I couldn't quite…

"Your ears look funny."

I opened my eyes and looked around to see who had spoken. I found a small girl, probably six or seven years old, staring at me expectantly. Dan covered his chuckle with an unconvincing cough. The girl held her head cocked at an angle, birdlike. She wore a pink and yellow pinafore with pink sandals, and two pink ribbons tied her curly black hair back into ponytails. "Well, hello there," I replied. "I guess my ears do look a little funny, don't they?" She nodded. "And who might you be?"

She folded her hands behind her back and recited in a sing-song voice, "My name's Jennifer, and I'm six years old."

I held out my hand for her to shake, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jennifer." She took my hand and shook it carefully. "What brings you here today, Jen?"

"Jen's what my daddy calls me," she said. "How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess, I suppose."

A man about the same age as Dan separated from the crowd watching the dig site and came toward us. "Jen!" he called out, "Are you bothering those people?"

"Daddy!" She ran toward him and he scooped her up onto his shoulder.

Before they got close enough to hear us, I whispered to Dan, "We need to get to know these people."

"Why?" Dan asked. "Dad, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I have," I answered. "That little girl is Guinevere Pendragon," Dan's eyes went wide as saucers, "and the fellow carrying her on his shoulders is her father, Tom."

"What!? How is that possible?" But the pair had reached us and I didn't have time to answer Dan's question.

I took the handshake Gwen/Jen's father offered. "I hope my daughter wasn't bothering you," he apologized, "I'm Tom."

"No bother at all, Tom," I assured him, "You have a lovely daughter. You can call me Merlin and this is my cousin, Dan."

"Merlin!" Tom grinned, "Well that's an appropriate name, considering…" he gestured at Camelot. Turning to Jennifer he teased, "You'd better be good or I'll ask Merlin to turn you into a toad." He poked her in the ribs, and she giggled loudly.

"Lady Fanny wouldn't let you turn me into a toad!" Jen protested.

"Lady Fanny?" Dan asked.

"She's sort of a patroness of our village, you might say," Tom explained. "She comes from old money and she's very generous with it. She's actually Lady Fay, but the children all call her 'Lady Fanny,' the name sort of stuck."

"Lady Fay." I repeated slowly.

"That's right," Tom said, "Lady Marjorie Fay."

A nervous feeling started to twist through my gut.

Dan tried to sound casual. "What village did you say this was?"

Tom laughed. "You're not from around here, are you? Most of the locals know about Lady Fanny."

"We came down from up north to see the dig," I told him. "We're actually hoping to find someplace to stay for a while."

"It's not every day they turn up something like Camelot," Dan pointed out. "Arthurian history is a bit of a hobby for us, so it's pretty exciting to be here for this."

Tom considered for a moment. "Well, we're from a little village called Cabislayne, not far from here. You should come by and talk to Lady Fanny; if anyone would know where you could put up for a while, it would be her."

"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't have time for a couple random travellers," I protested.

Jen piped up again. "Lady Fanny always likes to meet new people."

"She's a bit of a homebody," Tom explained, "Rarely leaves town. But she loves to get news from anybody passing through town. She says it's more pleasant than reading it on a computer or watching it on telly."

I looked at Dan, who held up both hands in a 'why-not?' gesture. "Alright," I tried to sound more cheerful than I felt, "Let's meet Lady Fanny."

"Grand," said Tom. "I just brought Jen by for the morning, we were about to head back to Cabislayne anyway. Why don't you follow us back into town? We'll stop in at Town Hall and see if we can find Lady Fanny." We agreed and began to hike back to our respective cars.

Once we were back in the car, Dan practically exploded. "How can that girl possibly be Guinevere?" Tom and Jen drove past in a pickup truck and Dan pulled out to follow them. "Didn't she, you know, die? A l-o-o-o-ong time ago?"

"Of course she died," I told him, "Jennifer isn't the exact same person as Guinevere, but her soul is Guinevere's. That child's soul belonged to Gwen back in the days of Camelot."

"Her soul?" Dan sounded sceptical.

"People die, but souls don't," I explained. "I've told you about the time Uther's ghost came back from beyond the veil, right? When someone dies, their soul passes into…well, it's got lots of names: The afterlife, the underworld, Valhalla…whatever. The point is that the soul goes someplace that's not here."

"And yet, Gwen's soul _is_ here."

"Right," I nodded, "But she doesn't know she used to be the queen of Camelot. She's been reborn into the world. It's not the first time I've run into someone from Camelot. It's not even the first time I've come across Gwen; I met her once before, during the American civil war."

"Seriously?" Dan didn't look convinced.

"Oh yes," I assured him. "She was a young nurse named Winifred caring for wounded soldiers. She met her future husband, Ansell, when I brought him in to her hospital."

"Ansell?" Dan grinned. "That wouldn't have been Lancelot, would it? You just coincidentally brought Lancelot into Guinevere's hospital?"

"Let's just say I gave coincidence a helping hand," I replied.

"So finding a reincarnation of Gwen and Tom," Dan said, "This is…normal?"

"As normal as magic ever is," I answered. "It just seems like more than a coincidence that we ran into the reincarnation of Guinevere at the rediscovered ruins of Camelot. And then there's Lady Fay…"

"You think it's Morgana?"

"Again, it's an awful big coincidence it if it isn't Morgana. I mean…her name. 'Marjorie Fay'?"

"That wasn't actually Morgana's name," Dan pointed out.

"No," I admitted, "It was those ridiculous monks in the Middle Ages who insisted she must have been a fairy. Honestly, a fairy! Ever since then, she's always been 'Morgan le Fae.'"

"So maybe it isn't Morgana."

"Gwen's name wasn't Jennifer," I countered, "But that was definitely Gwen we met today. There are very few souls whom I knew better than Guinevere; I recognized her as soon as I saw her."

"I guess we'll have to wait and see. Even if it is Morgana, she won't remember who she is, right? So how bad could it be?"

"I don't know." I massaged my temples with my fingers, all of this was beginning to give me a headache. "I just have a bad feeling, that's all."

"If anyone else told me they had a bad feeling about something, I'd dismiss it as nerves," Dan said. "But your bad feelings tend to be a bit prophetic. It's worrying."

It took about twenty minutes to drive to Cabislayne. The village turned out to be a quaint, picturesque little place, nestled in a large hollow between three hills. The road into town came up over one of the hills so, as we descended into the hollow, we got a very good view of the whole place. Aside from the businesses near the centre of town and a couple parks nestled among houses, it looked like it was mostly made up of modest houses and cottages. The exception was a large estate to the north of town. A large, rambling house surrounded by gardens sat at the end of a long drive. Even at a distance, I could tell the grounds were carefully kept. I figured that must be were Lady Fanny lived. Mostly, though, Cabislayne looked like any other small, rural village, like hundreds of other little places scattered around Europe, except that the closer we got to town, the worse my headache got. It wasn't just a headache, it was a sort of feeling like you get when you drive up into the mountains and your body's trying to adjust to the change in elevation, like there was a pressure on the inside of my head and my ears needed to pop. The road led into a large square in the centre of town, paved with old-fashioned cobblestones. People bustled across the square, going in and out of the shops that lined three of its sides. Tom parked his pickup in a row of spaces near the edge of the square. Dan pulled into a spot next to them and started to get out.

I put a hand on my forehead, trying to massage away the pressure. Dan came around and opened my door. "You okay?" he asked. "You look a little pale."

"I'll…oh, goodness," when I stood up it felt like the world started spinning. I put a hand on the car to steady myself. "I'll be alright," I said, trying my best to sound reassuring, "Just a bit dizzy is all."

Dan opened the back of the car and got out the shillelagh I'd been using in America. "Here," he said, "I know you normally just use this for the look of the thing, but maybe you actually need it as a walking stick for a bit."

My dizzy spell was beginning to pass, but I took the shillelagh without protest all the same. Tom and Jen were coming around the side of the car. Tom's brow furrowed when he saw me. "You're not looking so well, do you need to sit down for a bit?"

I stood up, leaning a bit on the lacquered blackthorn rod. "As I was just telling my…cousin," I caught myself just in time to avoid calling Dan my son, "I'll be fine. Just a bit of a dizzy spell, an after effect of the jet lag, I expect."

The explanation seemed to satisfy Tom, even if Dan still looked concerned. Tom pointed across the square, at the large stone building that ran along the fourth side of the square, "That's city hall," he said. "The mayor usually knows where Lady Fanny's at. She doesn't carry a cell phone, you know. She doesn't actually care much for electronics in general."

Dan looked at me with a bit of grin, "I know how that can be." I 'accidentally' put the shillelagh down on his toes and he yelped. "Careful there, cousin," he said with a forced grin.

Tom led the way across the square to the town hall. Inside at the desk, he asked a pleasant young lady if the mayor had a moment. I tried not to stare at the secretary, but I was certain I knew her from somewhere. She offered Jen some candy from a dish on her desk, which Jen gladly accepted. The mayor wasn't busy at the moment, and we were ushered into his upstairs office. It was even harder not to stare at the mayor. He looked quite different out of chain mail but Gwaine still wore his hair long, lending him a certain rogue-ish charm. Seeing Gwaine made me realize where I'd seen the secretary before. She was, rather, she had been a barmaid in Camelot's tavern whom I'd frequently seen hanging off one or the other of Gwaine's arms.

"Calvin," Tom clapped a meaty hand on the mayor's shoulder, "I'd like to introduce Merlin and Dan, down from up north to see Camelot."

'Calvin' stood up from behind his desk, "Welcome," he said grandly. "I expect we'll be seeing some increased foot traffic from the dig site for a while to come."

"Actually," Tom interjected, "They're looking for a place to stay for a while. We were hoping to ask Lady Fanny about some lodging."

"Ah, of course." Calvin looked to the secretary who had shown us in, "Connie, isn't Lady Fanny coming in this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir," Connie answered. "She'll be in at 1:30 to discuss this year's harvest festival."

"That's right, thank you, Connie," as he thanked her, he added the most lascivious wink I'd ever seen. Connie, I swear, blushed and giggled.

I rolled my eyes. "Good grief," I muttered under my breath. Dan raised his eyebrows. "I'll explain later," I said.

Calvin turned back to us. "Well, gentlemen, you're more than welcome to come back at 1:30, if that suits you."

Tom thanked Calvin and said we'd be back. It was almost 12:00 when we left the town hall, just enough time, Tom pointed out, to enjoy lunch at the best place in town, conveniently just across the square.

I was alert now and started paying closer attention to the people who we passed. I recognized maids, shopkeepers, knights…all from Camelot. Some people I didn't recognize, but nearly everyone had been in Camelot. I even saw a few of THE knights—you know, Knights of the Round Table knights. Sir Leon stepped out of a shop and waved at Tom. Tom excused himself for a moment, and he and Jen went to talk to Leon.

Dan fixed me with a stare. "Okay, what was that back in the mayor's office?"

I was beginning to feel a little crazy. "That man talking to Tom," I said, "That's Leon."

"As in _Sir_ Leon?" Dan asked incredulously.

"And the mayor," I added, "That was Gwaine."

"Gw- wait, wait…Gwaine? As in rescued-you-from-a-bar-fight Gwaine?"

"And the secretary and the woman we passed on the steps and those people by that shop—by the way, you just bumped shoulders with Percival—and everybody. Everybody, Dan!" I felt close to hysterics; my hands were shaking. "This. Shouldn't. Be." I took a deep breath. "This place is impossible."

Dan gripped both my shoulders. "Just calm down, okay? Breathe; it's okay. No one's trying to hurt us."

A fellow in overalls came around the corner of the town hall, apparently a gardener. He pulled pair of shears out of his pocket and started to prune deadheads off of the flower bushes around the stairs. "Oh my god," I breathed quietly, "Dan, that's Uther." Uther collected the dead flowers in large bucket he carried with him. More to myself than to Dan, I mused, "That's Uther Pendragon, pruning chrysanthemums." I started to laugh quietly.

"Hey," Dan snapped his fingers. "Hold it together, Dad."

"No, no," I said, "I'm okay, really. It's just…you didn't know him…the idea of Uther as a groundskeeper…it's really quite amusing."

"Tom's coming back," Dan said, "Let's just get in and sit down for some lunch, okay?" I nodded and managed to regain my composure.

Tom looked at me when he got back to us. "Are you sure you're okay? You still look at bit…off."

This time Dan answered before I did. "He needs to sit down; I think he's a bit dehydrated. Let's get to that café and get him some water."

"Right, let's get you a seat, then." Tom led the way across the square. I was feeling less like screaming, but Dan kept hold of my arm, just in case I felt like collapsing, I suppose. Jen walked beside us, looking concerned. We reached the café and Tom pointed us toward a corner booth, nodding at the man behind the counter. "Mort, can we get some water? This fellow here needs a bit of refreshing."

We sat down in the booth and shortly a young man in a white apron came to the table with four glasses of water. I took one gratefully, "Thank you, uh," I looked at the nametag on his lapel, which read 'Mort,' and then I saw his face. His name sprang to my lips before I could stop it: "Mordred."

Dan looked at me sharply. The waiter smiled, "Oh, it's just 'Mort.' Well, Mortimer, but everybody calls me Mort." His voice had a sing-song Irish lilt.

"Sorry," I managed. "Thank you, Mort." I took a sip of the water.

"Don't you worry about it," he assured me. "Tom, you let me know when you're ready to order, yeah? Take your time, no rush."

Tom thanked him and he went back to the counter. On Tom's recommendation, we both ordered Reuben sandwiches for lunch. "They make the corned beef right here, in-house, you know," he told us, "Best you'll ever taste." The corned beef was, true to Tom's word, some of the best I'd ever had. When we'd finished lunch, it was still a bit early to go back to the town hall, but Tom needed to take Jen back home.

"I think we can find our way back across the square on our own," I assured Tom. "You and your daughter have been very kind, thank you." Tom started to pull his wallet out of his pocket to pay for lunch, but I stopped him. "Please, let me; it's the least we can do to thank you."

"Well, if you insist," Tom said.

"We do," said Dan. "And, really, thank you for your help."

"Just being neighbourly," Tom insisted. "You'll find that a lot in these parts." To me, he added, "You take it easy, now, get a bit of rest before you do yourself harm."

Jen echoed her father's words as they left. "Take it easy, now."

After they'd left, Dan smiled. "She's adorable," he declared.

"That she is," I agreed.

"Can you handle this?" Dan asked. "It seems like this place is having a pretty bad effect on you. Maybe we should just leave."

"I can handle it," I promised. "Actually, I'm feeling better now that I've eaten a bit."

"Good." Dan lowered his voice so we couldn't be overheard. "So what is going on here?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never seen this many of Camelot's souls all gathered into one place."

"You think Morgana's behind it?"

"It makes as much sense as anything, but how? Even if she does somehow remember who she is…how could she manage to pull this off?"

Dan laughed, "You're asking me? Magic, sorcery, and the paranormal are your specialties, not mine."

"Maybe we can learn more when we meet 'Lady Fanny' in person." I glanced at my watch. "Speaking of which, it's still a bit early, but we might as well head back to the mayor's office." I left enough money on the table to cover the bill plus a generous tip. Dan and I said goodbye to Mort and went back across the square to the town hall.

"Hello, again," Connie greeted us when we entered. "Your timing is perfect, Lady Fanny arrived early. Go on up, I'll telephone and tell them you're coming."

Dan and I went upstairs and knocked on the door of the mayor's office. From inside Calvin called, "Come on in." We opened the door and went into the office. Calvin was sitting down to tea with a small, frail woman. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Lady Marjorie Fay." She was quite elderly and looked like the sort of woman a marketing company would get to play "Grandma" in an ad selling fresh-baked cookies. She wore a plain blue, high-collared dress with white lace around the edges and her white hair was tied up in a loose knot behind her head, with a few flyaway wisps which might have escaped accidentally, but which looked so picturesque that they might have been left out on purpose, too.

Dan caught my eye and raised his eyebrows, obviously asking, "Well, is that 'her'?" I gave a small shake of my head. I didn't know who this woman was, but she was definitely not Morgana Pendragon.


	5. Second Interlude

**Interlude – August 1975**

Brand woke up and found himself staring at a rock wall. His head throbbed painfully, and he felt a dull ache in his thigh. He reached down to massage his thigh and simultaneously discovered that, 1, he was naked and, 2, his thigh was bandaged. A similar exploration of his head revealed more bandages wrapping his head. Apparently, his host had taken care of his wounds after he had passed out. _Maybe he really is Emrys,_ Brand thought. _Whoever he is, he certainly knows his craft. I thought I was dead for sure after I cracked my skull like that._ He doubted that even his clan's best healer could have saved his life.

Getting up from the mattress, Brand took the blanket that covered him and wrapped it around his waist. He was in a small stone room of some sort with only one exit and no windows. He couldn't see the sun, so he had no idea what time it was, if was even the same day it had been when he passed out. Thanks to an oil lamp on the wall, he could see a well-stocked workbench along the opposite wall and a robe laid across a chair. Apparently his host—_I might as well call him Emrys,_ Brand decided, _until I learn any different_—didn't plan for him to wander about the place in the nude. No shoes had been provided, but the stone floor was worn smooth enough to make them unnecessary. Brand tossed the blanket back onto the mattress and picked up the robe. He put on the robe but didn't close it.

Brand looked down at himself in the light of the lamp. _Emrys saw me naked_, he thought, and giggled. He shook his head. _Good grief, what am I, fourteen?_ Still shaking his head, he closed the robe and cinched it around his waist. He couldn't wipe the smile from his face, though. _Who would've expected Emrys to be so…cute?_ Brand took a couple deep breaths to try and clear his head. He felt a strange giddy, light-headedness that he couldn't quite shake.

Brand left the room to explore more of his surroundings. He found himself in a long dark tunnel, also carved out of stone. _Of course,_ Brand realized, _these are the caves Connor and I were supposed to find._

"Hello?" he called out. "Emrys?" All he could hear was the echo of his voice up and down the corridor. He didn't want to start randomly hunting for Emrys, he and Connor had been told that the caves were quite a maze, an easy place in which to get lost. "Hello!?" Still nothing. Brand was about to go back into the room where he woke up when he saw a flicker of light in one of the side passages.

Following the light, Brand found his way into a large cavern dominated by an underground lake. The source of the light was a small glistening globe floating near Emrys' head, where he sat against the cave wall, apparently asleep. Brand noticed a watch sitting on top of a nearby stack of clothes and picked it up. It was heavy and, though Brand was no judge, quite old. It had dials for the month and date as well as the time. The time face was an exquisite work of art with twenty-four hours, instead of the usual twelve. He saw that he must have been out cold for nearly an entire day. It was mid-morning of the day after he and Connor had met Emrys in the forest.

"Emrys?" Brand called. Emrys didn't so much as twitch. Impulsively, Brand slipped out of his robe and slid into the water. It was perfectly warm, just the right temperature. He knew he shouldn't be getting his bandages wet, but he also didn't particularly care. Brand swam over to where Emrys rested. He gently shook Emrys' shoulder and asked, "Emrys?"

Emrys' eyes snapped open and he looked at Brand. "What are you doing awake?" he sounded annoyed. "You should be resting for hours." He cupped his hand and splashed some water on his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Wait, what time is it?"

"About ten o'clock tomorrow morning," Brand told him.

"Ten o'clock!" Emrys sat up. "I slept for twelve hours? Goodness, that spell really does take it out of a fellow." His expression turned to one of concern. "You shouldn't be getting your bandages wet." He thought for a second and added, "I suppose it's time to change your bandages anyway, so it won't matter all that much. Come on, let's get you some fresh bandages and take a look at your wounds."

Brand grinned and replied in a provocative tone, "You can take a look at _what-ever_ you want to," placing an extremely suggestive emphasis on his 'whatever.' His expression flipped to shock and he blurted, "Sorry! I don't know why I said that!"

"Ah," Emrys looked like he had bad news and didn't want to share it, "Well, that might be my fault. You see, you would've died before I could do anything to help you. I had to freeze you in a moment of time for about twelve hours."

"You…you froze…time?" Brand looked at Emrys in astonishment. "Time!? You can do that?"

Emrys waved the question aside. "That's not important. What's important is the side effect."

"Side effect?"

"Nothing permanent," Emrys assured him, "but it's very disorienting to the mind to lose that much time. Your brain needs a while to catch up with itself. In the meantime, you'll probably experience some delirium, euphoria, lack of judgement…it's not unlike being drunk, really."

"How long?" Brand asked.

"A few more hours?" Emrys shrugged. "It's hard to say. It depends on the individual, and I think you slept through the worst of it. Now, come, let's get your bandages changed." They swam back toward the entrance of the cavern. Brand, naked as a jaybird, climbed up on the rock ledge at the entrance. He turned around and saw Emrys treading water, very deliberately not looking down at Brand's, well, everything. Emrys made a turn-around gesture and Brand realized that, under the water, he was as naked as Brand was. "Do you mind?" Emrys asked impatiently.

Brand made a point of letting his gaze travel down below the water's surface. Slowly, he replied, "Not. At. All." He was pleased to see Emrys' cheeks flush red.

Emrys gave Brand a glare somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "I'll put that down to the delirium," he said, and made a gathering motion with his hand. The light floating over his shoulder winked out and the cavern was plunged into total darkness. Brand heard splashes and fabric rustling, and then the light coalesced into the air over Emrys' shoulder once more. Emrys stood, fully dressed, and looked back at Brand. "Coming?"

Brand blushed as red as Emrys had and closed the robe around himself. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I wasn't thinking."

Emrys' eyes twinkled with amusement. "It will pass, I promise." Emrys took Brand to a larger cave than the one where he had awoken. Cubbies and niches carved into the walls served as storage cupboards filled with all manner of supplies. Emrys directed Brand to a chair and pulled rolls of bandages from one of the carved cupboards. He unwound the bandages from Brand's head and examined the wound. "It looks like you're healing nicely," Emrys told him. "I'm going to re-bandage it, just in case, but the wound is nearly closed." He gently probed the base of Brand's skull and around his neck. "It feels like the bones have mended with no damage, as well, which is good. Does it hurt at all? Do you have full range of motion?"

Brand flexed his neck up and down and side to side. "Yeah, nothing wrong with moving it," he said. "Bit of an unpleasant headache, though."

"How bad?" Emrys asked.

"It's not terrible."

"Probably nothing serious," Emrys replied as he dabbed iodine on the wound and wrapped fresh bandages around Brand's head, "but let me know if it gets worse. Once the wound closes, I can give you something to thin your blood and ease the pain, but not until then. I don't want you bleeding out on me."

Emrys got a stool and propped Brand's injured leg up off the floor. He slid the robe off of Brand's leg to expose the bandages and began unwrapping them. The wound was quite high on Brand's inner thigh. Emrys was obviously trying to be as careful as possible about unwrapping the bandages, but, given the location of the wound, his hand kept bumping and rubbing between Brand's legs, and the robe was very thin.

The bandage was almost undone when Brand grabbed Emrys' hand and urgently snapped out, "Stop!"

Emrys looked at Brand and saw that he was breathing heavily. "I'm sorry; did I hurt you?"

Brand shook his head. "No, I…sorry, I can't stop it." At Brand's waist, the robe slowly began to lift up as Brand's erection grew beneath it. Brand closed his eyes but it continued to grow until the robe fell away, exposing his plump manhood. He hadn't completely hardened yet, so, after the robe slipped away, his penis slumped chubbily to one side, almost as if it were ashamed of itself. It fell on Emrys' hand with a hollow slapping sound and lay there, dead. Brand was so mortified he couldn't look Emrys in the eye.

Emrys didn't seem fazed. "It's a hazard of the medical business," he said, and flipped Brand's manhood off of his hand with a quick flick of his wrist. It flopped over to rest on Brand's other leg. "No worries, it happens." Brand let go of his hand and Emrys finished unwrapping the bandage. He touched the fresh, red skin on Brand's thigh. "Good, this wound, at least, is almost completely healed."

"Already?" Brand was surprised.

"I didn't just heal your head wound yesterday," Emrys said. "I gave this one a bit of help as well." He gathered the used bandages. "I don't think we need to re-bandage your leg." He stood up and busied himself putting away his things and washing the used bandages and basin of water. To Brand's relief, Emrys kept his back to him the whole time. Brand tried to distract himself, but he only succeeded in getting himself completely rock-hard. He looked down at his member, no longer lying against his leg, but standing up, long and thick, and begging for some attention; he looked over at Emrys, who was still facing away from Brand, and wasn't surprised by a nearly overwhelming wave of desire. _Delirium and euphoria, indeed,_ he thought. _Emrys forgot to mention it would make me crazy horny._ He tried to cover himself, but the robe simply wasn't designed to contain something so, well, to be honest, something so large.

Emrys, still with his back to Brand, asked, "Do you need to, you know, be alone for a while?"

Brand managed to bite back the reply that nearly jumped out of his mouth: You can stay and watch if you want. Instead, he mumbled, "Yeah, if that's okay."

Emrys dropped a clean cotton towel on the counter and left the room, lighting a lamp by the entrance as he did. "Don't wander off after you're done," he said. "It's easy to get lost down here. Call for me when you're ready." And he was gone.

Brand, his cheeks hot with embarrassment, undid the cinch of the robe and opened it around himself. He spit into his hand, grabbed his erection in a fist, and began stroking furiously. Inside of five minutes he was nearly ready to climax when he stopped. A bead of clear precum glistened in the slit at the tip of the head; it shimmered in the light as more oozed up to join it and grew until it succumbed to gravity and slid down his shaft and over his fingers. Distractedly, he let go of himself and licked his fingers.

A thought had occurred to him. He knew, intellectually, that Emrys wouldn't care one way or the other, but he still didn't want Emrys to think he was a quick shot. This was already embarrassing enough. Brand figured Emrys thought he must be young, foolish, horny, and immature; he didn't need to add 'premature' to that list as well. Unfortunately, at the moment, he wanted nothing more in the world than to grab his shaft and finish. At this point, it would only take a couple strokes. His hand wrapped around his aching shaft and he felt it tense and release beneath his palm again and again, trying to reach climax. _No,_ he thought. _No. I don't care whether it matters or not; I don't want Emrys to think I pop in five minutes._

He stood up, leaving the robe on the chair, and looked around the room, trying to distract himself. His erection felt heavy in front of him and bobbed awkwardly with each step he took, making it very difficult for Brand to ignore it. In spite of himself, he found himself intrigued by the basin where Emrys had washed the bandages. It looked like it was just a bowl cut into the rock until Brand noticed that the surface of the water was rippling. He stuck his hand into the basin and felt a current. Water was being forced up into the bowl from a hole in the bottom and drained out through several small holes near the top. Brand wondered if it was a natural spring or if Emrys had constructed it somehow.

After what he judged to be a sufficiently respectable span of time, Brand grabbed the towel that Emrys had left out and sat down again. His erection had actually begun to diminish, but he still wanted—needed—release after getting so close. He began to stroke again, regaining a full erection almost instantly. He didn't rush, though. He took his time, enjoyed himself. Soon enough, his breathing grew ragged and he felt the point of no return approaching. He spread his legs and used his free hand to tease between his ass cheeks, slipping a finger inside of himself right at the moment of climax.

He cried out as he came, and a rope of cum landed in his mouth, filling it with the familiar taste of salty-sweet. More splattered across his chest. He sighed with contentment and swallowed, pulling his finger out of himself at the same time. When he felt his erection begin to soften in his hand, he squeezed out the last drops of cum, let them dribble down over his hand, and licked them off. Taking the towel, he wiped himself clean. He cleaned the towel and his hands in the water basin, and set the towel on the rack where Emrys had left the bandages to dry. He waited until the last of the white threads of cum had swirled over the edge of the wash basin and disappeared before he wrapped the robe around his body again and cinched it closed.

Brand stuck his head out into the passageway outside. "Emrys?"

Emrys' reply came from somewhere down the passage. "On my way." Soon Brand could see Emrys' light coming down the tunnel. He had a change of clothes in his arms. Brand wasn't sure what exactly you said to someone who knew you'd just finished pleasuring yourself a moment before. Fortunately, Emrys spoke first. "I thought you might want these," he held up the clothes. "You're pretty close to my own size, so they ought to fit. You must be hungry," he added. "Join me in the kitchen when you're ready, I'll have lunch ready soon."

Brand blinked. "And the kitchen is where?"

"Right." Emrys snapped his fingers. "I forgot." He held up a hand and said, "_Goleuo._" Another shimmering light pulled itself together out of thin air and floated above Emrys' hand. He set it in the middle of the entranceway, like he was hanging a Christmas ornament on an invisible tree. "Just follow the light," he told Brand. "It'll take you to the kitchen."

Exiting the room into the corridor beyond, Merlin wound through the maze of tunnels until he reached another larger room. More of the carved-out cupboards lined the walls, these ones filled with foodstuffs, and another of the perpetual flow water basins, much larger than the last, was carved into the corner. A large, polished stone slab stood in the middle of the room. On top of the slab sat fixings for two chicken sandwiches, mid-way through preparation. Merlin returned to the sandwiches and finished assembling them.

Soon the light Merlin had left for Brand drifted into the room, followed closely by Brand, wearing a plain white shirt and blue jeans. Merlin looked up and greeted Brand. He snapped his fingers and pointed just to the left of Brand's head. The light he had created floated up and came to a rest beside Brand's left ear. When Brand moved, the light followed. "In case we get separated," Merlin explained. "And, eventually, you'll learn your way around this place and won't want to rely on me to take you everywhere. How's your head?"

Brand laughed, "You mean the injury or the hangover from that spell?"

"Either," Merlin smiled, "or both."

"The injury still hurts a bit, but not bad. The hangover seems to be passing. I don't feel so giddy or light-headed, and I think my brain/mouth filter is back in working order."

Merlin nodded. "Druids have a natural affinity for magic. It's less of a shock to your system than to someone unaccustomed to sorcery. You probably will recover faster than normal." A thought struck him. "The druids do still have sorcerers, don't they? Or have they lost the gift like everyone else?"

"No, we've still got it," Brand answered. "If the legends are to be believed, our sorcerers today aren't nearly as strong as the ones we had back in your day, but we've still got the gift." They sat down at the table to eat the sandwiches. "After learning some of what you can do," Brand said, "I'm inclined to think the legends are true." He studied Merlin for a second. "You really are Emrys, aren't you?"

"I can't exactly prove it," Merlin acknowledged, "but, for what my word's worth, yes, I am."

"I believe you," replied Brand. "I can't speak for the rest of the clan, but I believe you."

"How many of you are there?"

"Forty and change," Brand said. "I'm not sure exactly. Only three sorcerers, though, and no one like you."

"Listen, Brand," Merlin's tone became serious, "About yesterday, in the forest, I'm so sorry for that. I really thought I had deflected the arrow into empty space."

"It's alright; I know you didn't mean to."

"You were trying to stop Connor, weren't you? That's why you stepped toward him."

"Aye," agreed Brand. "I'm just as sorry for our behaviour out there. My brother—Connor's my older brother—can be a bit of a tight-ass, especially when the safety of the clan is concerned."

"I shouldn't have let the situation get so out of hand," Merlin said. He chuckled. "If you had it to do over again, I bet you'd just let me handle the arrow instead of trying to stop your brother."

Brand didn't answer. Merlin looked up from his lunch and saw Brand studying him thoughtfully. Eventually, Brand said, "No, I think I'd do exactly the same thing." Merlin looked back at Brand, unsure what to say to that, but Brand's gaze was so intense that Merlin looked away. Then Brand broke the mood by joking, "I couldn't very well let my brother shoot Emrys, could I? You're a bloody legend!"

After they finished lunch, Merlin took Brand through the caves and tried to help him get his bearings. There were countless small passages and tunnels, but, as long as you stuck to the larger tunnels and 'main' caverns, it was actually a pretty simple layout to learn. Aside from the kitchen, the storeroom, his workshop/bedroom, and the hot spring, Merlin had occupied several other storage rooms and, to Brand's astonishment, a large cave which Merlin had converted into a library. "For a hermit who lives in a hole in the ground," Brand said, "You have a pretty well-appointed home."

Merlin shrugged. "I scrounge and scavenge what I can't make. In the early days, I had to make occasional trips to a city, so I could buy odds and ends, but I haven't had to do that in ages."

"But all these books!" Brand could hardly believe it. Brand tried to count the number of books on one of the shelves cut into the stone and multiply it by the number of shelves, but he lost count of the shelves around forty. Even if he had managed it, there were more books stacked on tables scattered around the place.

Merlin laughed. "These are just the ones I brought with me from England." he said.

Brand wandered over to a small writing desk in the corner of the room to look at the book lying open on its surface. "So what're you reading at the moment?" Of the two pages Brand could see, one was only half filled with writing. When Brand looked closer, he realized that the text was handwritten.

Merlin reached over and flipped the book closed before Brand could read much of what was inside. "That's just my journal," he told Brand.

"You keep journals?" Brand was surprised.

"It helps me remember things," Merlin said. "I have a lot of life to try and remember. Sometimes things slip through the cracks. Journals are my attempt to make sure nothing important slips through the cracks." He went over to a book that was open on a desk and closed it. "For instance, I was just beginning to write about you before lunch today."

"Well, sure," Brand nodded. "Finding druids after all this time must be pretty important."

"True enough," Merlin agreed, "but that's not what I was writing about." He walked passed Brand on his way out of the cave. "I was writing about you," he tapped Brand lightly on his chest, "and how you were willing to give your life to protect mine." Merlin took Brand by the shoulders as they left the room. "Brand, the druids of Albion, the druids I knew in Camelot, they would've been proud to call you one of their own yesterday. Not because you saved Emrys," Merlin added, "but because you saved a human life."

Brand looked down at his feet, unsure how to take the compliment. "I didn't, really. You would've been fine without me."

"Didn't you?" Merlin asked. "You told Connor that you weren't hurt badly and would be fine on your own. Before you passed out, you said Connor would've tried to kill me if he'd known the truth."

"He would've," Brand acknowledged. "He wouldn't have stopped until one of you was dead."

"I'm curious; who were you trying to protect when you sent Connor away? Him or me?"

"Connor couldn't have hurt you," Brand said, "no way, he couldn't have." Merlin stopped and looked at Brand, waiting for an answer. "I know it doesn't make sense," Brand admitted, "But I was afraid for you. I had to get Connor away so he wouldn't hurt you."

"You were willing to sacrifice your life to save another," Merlin said again. "That meant something to the old druids, and it means something to me." He started walking up the passage again. They emerged into the sunlight through the one exterior entrance to the cave network. Brand looked below them and saw a small lake not too far from where they stood. "That's Spirit Lake," Merlin offered. "And this," he turned around and swept an arm around to encompass the tall, snow-capped mountaintop that dominated the horizon behind them, "is Mount St. Helens."


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Present Day**

"Wait a minute," Dan shook his head, "You're telling me that in a town populated almost entirely by people who used to be at Camelot back in the day, the so-called patroness of the town, who is actually named Lady Fay, is not only not Morgana, but she's not even from Camelot?" His tone was disbelieving. "Are you sure?"

"She wasn't familiar at all," I insisted, "on any level."

"Well, she's a lot older than Morgana was when you killed—uh, I mean, the last time you saw her. Maybe you just don't recognize her."

"Dan, it's not just her face I didn't recognize. I didn't know Gwen when she was six, but I recognized her spirit in Jen as soon as I saw her. I can feel a connection to all these people. With Lady Fanny, there's nothing."

Dan and I were sitting in the living room of the small house Lady Fanny had found for us. A fire crackled pleasantly in the fireplace. Earlier today, I had been so certain that the strangeness surrounding Cabislayne was all Morgana's doing. Now, I wasn't so sure. When we were introduced to Lady Fanny that afternoon, I had known at once that she wasn't Morgana.

"Gentlemen," Mayor Calvin had said, "Allow me to introduce Lady Marjorie Fay."

The tiny old woman straightened in the high back chair she occupied and extended a hand, palm down. "Please," she said, her bright eyes twinkling, "Call me Lady Fanny. It's such an adorable appellation the children gave me, I just have to use it."

I stepped forward and took her hand, gently raising her fingers to my lips. It was an old-fashioned gesture, but it seemed fitting for Lady Fanny. "Lady Fanny," I said, "A pleasure. I am Merlin."

Fanny raised an eyebrow, "Is that your given name or your family name?"

"My given name," I answered. "My family name is Ambrose."

"Oh!" Fanny clapped her hands with delight, "Just like _Merlinus Ambrosius_!"

"Fanny is something of an enthusiast of Arthurian history," Calvin said.

Perhaps I should explain. Back in the twelfth century, a fellow named Geoffrey of Monmouth wrote a "history" of Britain's kings. It was almost entirely fictitious, but it did have some kernels of truth and some genuine historical figures, like Arthur and me. Geoffrey found some references to me as Emrys, which he translated as Ambrose. Since he was writing in Latin, my name turned into _Merlinus Ambrosius_, which literally means "Merlin the immortal." The wordplay appealed to me, so, when I need a family name, I've taken to using Ambrose. Of course, once in a while, I run into someone like Fanny who knows her history.

"What a coincidence," Dan piped up, "So are we!"

Fanny looked expectantly at Dan. "Lady Fanny," I said, "my cousin Dan Ambrose." Dan bowed slightly, which Lady Fanny acknowledged with a nod of her head.

"You study the Arthur legends?" she asked.

"Yep," Dan said, "I guess you could say we're amateur historians. That's actually why we came down; we wanted to see Camelot for ourselves."

Fanny nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes! It's amazing, isn't it? And so close to us, too."

Calvin indicated the other two seats arranged around the small tea table. "Merlin, Dan, won't you sit down? Tom said you were looking for lodging, didn't he?"

"That's right," I said. "We'd like to stay near the dig site for a while, to be here if anything exciting happens."

"That's certainly an ambition I can understand," Fanny said. "Hmmm," she pondered for a moment. "You know, I believe the Morrisons are spending a year in Australia and renting out their house in the interim. As far as I know, no one has rented it yet."

"That sounds perfect," Dan said.

"Doesn't it? You must come round to tea after you're settled in, it will be so nice to have people around who share my interests." Fanny appeared very pleased to have us staying in town. "If you're still staying when the Morrisons come back next Spring, well, we'll just cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I don't think you'll need to worry about that," I assured her. "Dan and I travel quite a bit; we're not planning to stay on more than a few months."

Dan and I had enjoyed tea with Lady Fanny and the mayor before going back downstairs to arrange the rental. The town didn't really have any estate agents, so the town hall handled the lease of the property. We arranged for a month-to-month rental and then Fanny took us out to the property. It was a cosy little cottage, well-appointed, and not too far from the town centre. Since our rental was rather sudden, there wasn't any food in the house, and Fanny had insisted that we allow her to have some groceries sent round in the morning.

In the meantime, Dan and I had walked down to the square and bought dinner from Mort. When we got back to the house, we found a load of firewood neatly stacked under the eaves along the side of the house with a note from Fanny that the evenings got chilly around here, and we'd probably want a fire.

By about 7:00, the house had got cold enough that a fire had sounded like a good idea, so, while Dan built a fire in the living room, I went to the kitchen and made some tea we'd purchased from a shop on our way back to the house. As we drank the tea, we discussed the events of the day and tried to make some sense of things.

Dan leaned back in his chair. "So Marjorie Fay isn't Morgana…what does that mean for us?"

"Why should it mean anything?" I asked. "Maybe this place is just a grand coincidence."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

I sighed, "No. But these people are happy; they don't seem to have any idea who they used to be, and they're not hurting anyone. I don't see any reason not to just let things be."

"But you're not planning on leaving, either," put in Dan, "I know you better than that. How's your head?"

"The longer we stay here, the less I feel that pressure in my head. It's like I'm acclimating somehow."

"Good," Dan said. "I don't know about you, but I like the idea of getting to know my childhood heroes in person."

"Dan, these aren't the same people from my stories."

"I know. I know that," he insisted, "But they are quite similar, aren't they? I mean, I think I could have guessed that Calvin was Gwaine even if you hadn't told me, the way he was flirting with his secretary. And, really, Percival—sorry, Percy—is the only person in the entire village who's wearing cut-off sleeves."

I smiled at that. "He always had to have the sleeves removed from his chain mail. He said it was because the sleeves weren't long enough, but we all knew he had a thing about showing off his arms."

"Admit it," Dan teased, "You want to stay here as much as I do."

Before I could answer, we were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 8:30. "A bit late for the welcome wagon, don't you think?" I commented.

"Maybe it's more gifts from Lady Fanny," Dan suggested. The doorbell rang again. I started to get out of my chair. "No, don't get up," Dan said, standing. "I'll see who it is." He left the room; I heard the front door open and sounds of muffled conversation I couldn't quite make out clearly. "Merlin," he called back after a moment, "We have a guest." He came back into the living room followed by a tall woman. She was older than I remembered her, maybe in her fifties, but there was no mistaking that raven hair and those piercing eyes. Dan started to introduce her, "This is—"

I reacted instinctively, without thinking, without even using a spell. I leapt to my feet and flung out my hand and opened myself to the magic, pouring all my hurt and anger and fear into the unspoken spell. Morgana flew away from me with a surprised cry and slammed into the opposite wall.

"DAD!" Dan nearly screamed, "What are you doing!"

I didn't let up; I kept channelling a continuous outpouring of invisible force against Morgana, freezing her in place. The drywall behind her slowly began to splinter and crack, and the air in the room began to swirl along the unseen current, whipping up in frenzy as though the room were housing a small windstorm. My eyes were shining so intensely that my peripheral vision was bleached out by golden light—all I could see was Morgana, her eyes closed in pain, managing to speak through clenched teeth. "He knows what he's doing, my dear. Emrys and I don't need introductions."

Dan backed away from Morgana, realization dawning. "You mean you're…"

"Call me Morgana, dear. Although I imagine Emrys has some other choice names he may prefer."

Warily I circled around so I stood between Morgana and Dan, never lowering my hand, keeping Morgana pinned against the wall. "What do you want?" I demanded angrily. "Wasn't it enough to ruin all these lives once? Couldn't you leave them in peace, even in death?"

Morgana opened her mouth to say something, but shut it before she started. I realized that she wasn't fighting back. Were our positions reversed, I could think of a dozen different ways I might already have broken free and attacked. Why wasn't Morgana fighting? I lowered my hand and she collapsed to the floor.

Cautiously, I ventured a guess. "You don't have magic, do you?"

Morgana got slowly to her feet and turned to face the wall behind her, raising her hands wide. "_Dychwelyd_." The cracks and fissures in the wall sealed themselves instantly; the pieces of drywall that had fallen to floor raised back into the gaps in the wall, and I even saw a flurry in the air as tiny airborne pieces of dust were sucked back into place. When she turned back to face me, she started to say something again but, once again, stopped.

A smile spread across her face. Not a malicious smile, like I'd seen on her face so often before, but a smile of genuine joy. She raised a hand to her face. I flinched, ready to counter whatever she might throw at us, but she just wiped a tear out of her eye. "It really is you," she said softly. "When Fanny told me about our new tenants, I knew it had to be you, but I never dreamed you would remember…" she didn't finish her thought. Morgana studied my face closely, looking almost fearful. "It is you…isn't it…Emrys?"

Silently, I summoned the aging spell, intending to take the aged form that's more traditionally associated with 'Emrys.' Magic can be unpredictable. Sometimes, it's as though the power I channel better understands what must be done than I do myself. I only meant to age myself, but somehow I completely transformed myself. I did age, my hair and my beard grew out as I expected, but, when I'd finished, I found I was wearing the embroidered red robes I'd used as a disguise in Camelot and holding a staff of white ash, twisted but soft with the smoothness of well-used ancient wood.

Morgana did the last thing I expected. She fell onto her knees and cried, "Emrys!" She looked up at me, "Emrys…Merlin, I've been looking for you for so long. You and Arthur." Her voice broke and she swallowed back a sob. "Oh, Merlin, I am so, so sorry for everything…can you ever forgive me?"

I could give you the blow-by-blow of what happened that night, but I don't think I can tell the tale any better than Morgana did herself, so here is Morgana's story, as she related it to me:

"My early childhood sounds like something out a fairy tale. You'd expect me to be the reincarnation of one of the Grimm's princesses, not Morgana. I don't really remember my parents, but I'm told that they were kind, loving people. They died in an auto accident when I was an infant, leaving me all alone. I was my parents' only child, and had no other family that I knew of. My parents were, however, quite wealthy and had provided for me. I was raised by my nanny, supported by a trust fund my parents had arranged. I wouldn't gain control of their estate until I turned twenty-five.

"The large estate on the edge of town belonged to my parents. Back then, Cabislayne was simply the name of our property. There was no town to speak of, just a few old spinster cottages, a hut for the groundskeeper, things like that. My nanny, whom you met today in Calvin's office, is a wonderful woman. You must understand, I was born Morgan Fay, with no more knowledge of who I was or who I'd been than any of the other people you've met here. Nanny Fanny—don't laugh, that really is her name: Marjorie Fanny. As I was saying, Nanny Fanny raised me and loved me like her own daughter. She never had children of her own, but she was the best mother I could have asked for.

"Fanny isn't just putting on an act when she says her hobby is studying the Arthur legends. She's always been fond of the old Anglo-Saxon legends and Arthur particularly, and she passed that same passion on to me. I attended school in Colchester, and history was always my favourite subject. After high school, I went to university in London to study early British history. I did quite well in my classes, if I say so myself. I impressed one of my professors enough that she took me on as her teaching assistant during my junior year. Back in those days, that was quite a coup for an undergraduate, much less a junior. It was a lot of work, in addition to my courses, but it was worth it.

"One weekend, I came in on a Sunday to catalogue a number of new items received from around Britain. We were working on a special study of the archaeological treasures that turned up in gardens and parks and unofficial sites, rather than 'official digs.' I had been working most of the afternoon, trying to get everything ready for Monday morning, and I was nearly finished. The last item was something long wrapped loosely in a packing blanket but missing any sort of identification. The feeling I got when I picked it up…it was like I could feel it drawing me in, calling to me.

"That was on 18 May 1980. I can see you asking yourself how I can be so sure of the date. Trust me, I know exactly what day it was…I'll explain why in a moment. When I unfolded the blanket, I was certain a mistake had been made. Everything in the shipment was supposed to be ancient, Middle Ages, at least. I was sure that the sword inside the package had to be a modern reproduction. The steel blade gleamed as though it had just been forged, the gold glistened brightly. It was in almost perfect condition, save for one flaw. There was a large chip in the side of the blade.

"You would recognize the sword, I'm sure, Merlin. It was, as you may have guessed, the sword I forged for Mordred. Where the missing piece is, I cannot say. I can only assume it lies wherever Arthur was buried. I was transfixed by the sword. I looked into the blade, staring at a reflection which was me but not me. It was my face but worn and haggard, haunted…terrible. Unable to resist, I reached out and touched the blade. As soon as I did, I began to remember my past life in Camelot. It was slow at first, like remembering a dream you've forgotten. I wasn't sure if I was remembering things that had actually happened or things I may have imagined as a child. Before I knew what was happening, I had the hilt of the sword in my hand. An entire lifetime of experience began to pour into my mind like a dam had suddenly burst.

"I can show you the blade, if you don't believe me; I still have it. I keep it secure under lock and key in my home. If I could, I would destroy the wretched thing…the constant reminder of what I became. I know that this particular blade is not so easily dispatched, though. I keep it locked up so that no one else accidentally discovers who they are, as I did. What if a child, like Jen stumbled on the blade by accident? Can you imagine, a lifetime of memories crammed into the mind of a six year-old? Or what if Luther…forgive me, I mean, what if Uther's memories were restored? Luther runs a wonderful grounds-keeping service. He's proud of his work, and he's happier than Uther ever was.

"Regaining the memory of my past life nearly destroyed me. It was a violation of my mind at the most intimate level. It would have been so easy to just slip away into the hatred and fear that consumed Morgana so many years ago. But, when I received Morgana's memories, Morgan didn't just stop existing. I was still Morgan Fay, and I was also Morgana Pendragon. Morgan had the advantage of an outsider's perspective. Before I ever knew of my past, I had learned about Morgana from the outside, and I could see how wrong she had been. After I remembered who I was, I could see how she…how I became so corrupt that I couldn't even see how much pain I was inflicting just to satisfy a lust for vengeance.

"I wish I could say that I worked through it all and came out a better person for it. I guess, I did, eventually. At the time, I couldn't even understand what had happened. I wrapped up the sword and ran home to Fanny, shut myself in my room for two days, and refused to come out. The worst part of it all was the guilt. Imagine, Merlin, that one day you found out that you had been Uther in a past life. Imagine that you suddenly found yourself responsible for hunting down and executing men, women, and children and all but exterminating magic from an entire country. I was so ashamed…and I couldn't even begin to see how I could atone. How do you apologize for something done centuries ago? How can you make up for crimes committed so long ago?

"I couldn't answer those questions. Then I discovered that while I was unwrapping the cursed sword and regaining my memories, Mount St. Helens had erupted half-a-world away, throwing so much ash into the air that it would affect climates across the globe. It seemed like an omen. My memories were restored, and a literal cloud of darkness was spreading over the world.

"I ran.

"I didn't even say good-bye to Fanny; I just ran. I fled from Cabislayne and out of the country. I started wandering around to anyplace that would take me in for a while. I never stayed in any place too long, I had this irrational fear that someone would figure out who I was. I don't know what I thought they would do; I wasn't exactly thinking clearly. The only thing I held on to was the sword, which I never removed from the wrapping after that first day. I'd been living like that for several years when one day, in a pub in Germany, a cocky young man came up and tried to buy me a drink. He introduced himself as Calvin, but I was absolutely certain he was Gwaine. I was so shocked when I saw who it was, I didn't even refuse the drink.

"He tried to hit on me—well, what would you expect from Gwaine at that age? I think he was hardly a day over nineteen at the time. He didn't manage to pick me up, but he stayed at the table anyway. We got to talking, and I soon realized that he was like me: Gwaine's soul born into the modern era. Except he didn't know who he was. It seems obvious now, but it had never occurred to me that I might not be the only person who'd returned from Camelot. Calvin was a bit like me, running around on his own, flitting from one place to the next. It was so surreal to talk to him. The last time I remembered seeing Gwaine was when…when I…

"I'm sorry. It's still hard to voice the things I did. It's one thing to know in my heart that I…killed him in cold blood. It's quite another thing entirely to say it out loud.

"As we sat in that pub talking, I realized that here was an opportunity to begin to make up for what I'd done. If I couldn't go back and undo the things I had done, then I could make sure that the souls I had hurt didn't have to suffer in this life. Completely on a whim, I told Calvin about Cabislayne and the estate I would soon inherit, and I invited him to go back there with me. I'm not sure if he believed me or not; I think he thought he still had a chance to get me in bed if he played along. The very next day we set out to beg and barter our way back to England and to Cabislayne.

"I had no idea what I would find when I returned. I'd never had the nerve to try and contact Fanny after I ran away. I wasn't sure if she was still there, or if the whole estate might have fallen into disrepair. I should have known better. Fanny had the endless faith that springs from a mother's love. Or, perhaps, she figured I be back someday to collect my inheritance. At any rate, she was still there, still keeping the place ready for me to come back. Our reunion was not exactly storybook. I had left and disappeared for years without even a letter or a phone call. Despite everything, it felt good to be back home. I hadn't realized how much I had missed Fanny until I came back to her.

"You're probably wondering why everyone thinks Fanny's last name is Fay. When I introduced Calvin to Fanny, I just introduced her as my mother, Marjorie. It never occurred to me to explain that she was actually my nanny who cared for me after my parents died. Fanny had been my mother for as long as I could remember, so Calvin assumed her last name was the same as mine, and Lady Marjorie "Fanny" Fay was born. We never saw any need to set the record straight; I'm more than pleased to share the estate with Fanny.

"The first night that I was back, after Calvin had retired to one of the guest bedrooms, I told Fanny everything. She, understandably, thought I was either lying or mad. Fortunately, it wasn't hard to prove my story. The experiences of my past life weren't the only memories that had been restored; I also remembered everything I had known about magic. A small demonstration of my skill was enough to convince Fanny I was telling the truth. Anyone else might have been scared of 'occult magicks' or afraid of what I could do. Fanny was over-the-moon ecstatic. She had, in her living room, a living, breathing inhabitant of Camelot. She spent the whole night peppering me with questions about life in Camelot. What had the castle looked like? Did Arthur really do all the things in the legend? What about Merlin?

"Fanny and I agreed it would be best not to tell others about my past. No one would believe me without proof, and I didn't want to start showcasing magic for all the world to see. I told Fanny who Calvin was and that I wanted to give him a home for as long as he wanted to stay. Calvin was the first of Camelot's children to come Cabislayne, but not the last. When I turned twenty-five, I put my parents' estate to work, developing the area, building a large home into a small town.

"Ever since then, I've been hunting and searching for the people of Camelot. It was slow going at first, but something unexpected started happening as I found more and more souls. More and more of people started arriving of their own accord, by chance or accident. It's as though gathering Camelot together again is having a magnetic effect. The more of us there are here, the more keep finding their way here."

Dan and I listened to Morgana's story, first with disbelief and distrust, but, as she talked, I sensed that she was telling the truth. There was no guile in her, no malice, only the terrible burden of guilt. Finally, Morgana fell silent, apparently done. She sat on a couch in the living room, looking very small and alone. Dan and I sat in two chairs facing her. Nobody spoke for a long time. I didn't know what to say.

Dan was the first to break the silence. "I think I believe you." He spoke slowly, unsure of himself, and looked at me for confirmation. I still couldn't say anything. It was too much to take in at once. I wanted so badly to trust Morgana. I knew what she had told us was true. I had spent so long blaming her for Arthur's death, though. I thought I had come to terms with the loss of Arthur, but seeing her again brought back all the old feelings as fresh as the day it happened.

Morgana waited expectantly for me to say something, but I couldn't. Her disappointment was plain to see on her face. It hurt me to watch, and, still, I said nothing. She shook her head sadly. "I shouldn't have come tonight," she said. "Fanny told me I should wait. I was certain it was you, though. I had to find out for sure. I was so excited, I didn't listen to her. All the time I've spent looking for the others, the whole time there were three people I wanted to find more than anyone. The people who I hurt the most; the ones who lost the most because of me." She paused to wipe a tear from her eye. "I had to find Gwen and Arthur and you. If I couldn't try to make amends for what I did to the three of you, everything else was worthless. I was so happy when Tom arrived with Jennifer a few years ago, but for all my searching, I was never able to find you or Arthur."

Morgana stood up to leave. "I understand," she said quietly. "You don't have any reason to believe me, and you have every reason to hate me. I do hope you'll stay, though. For a while, at least." When she started to leave, Dan stood up. Morgana waved him back down. "I can see myself out," she murmured.

"Morgana," I called out to her before she left. She turned back to look at me but said nothing. "Are you doing anything tomorrow?" It must have seemed a bit of a _non sequitur_, I know. Dan gave me an odd look.

It didn't seem to faze Morgana, though. "No," she replied, "Nothing."

"Come back tomorrow morning, then. We're going to take a little trip, if you're up for it."

Although she looked a bit trepidatious, she didn't falter. She simply nodded and said, "Tomorrow morning, then." With that, she was gone.

"A trip?" Dan asked.

"I'll explain tomorrow. Right now," I shook my head, "I can't think right now. It's late. I'm going to bed." Dan clearly didn't want to wait until the next day to discuss what had happened but he let me go without further comment. I went back to the bedroom I had chosen for myself and lay in bed.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

\- x - x - x - x - x -

The next day dawned bright and beautiful. I was so distracted that I hardly noticed the scenery as it flashed by. We were speeding down a highway, away from Cabislayne. Morgana sat up front with Dan, and I sat alone in the back seat. I had returned to the youthful appearance which I had used the day before. Morgana didn't seem any more at ease around me, whatever my age. I hadn't told her where we were going; I guess I wanted to see how much she was willing to trust me.

It was late in the morning when Dan pulled the car onto a side road and, shortly, pulled over to the curb. I got out of the car, as did Morgana. Dan tactfully offered to stay with the car. Morgana looked around expectantly.

"Up ahead," I pointed up the road. "Our destination is just around the bend." We walked in tense silence. We rounded the corner of the road. I stopped, leaned against the fence, and looked out across the placid lake that lay just off the road.

Morgana waited for me to say something for several minutes before giving up. "I don't understand," she said, "What am I supposed to do? What do you want?"

Quietly, I asked, "Do you really not know where we are?"

Morgana looked about the place seeking some landmark she might recognize. Finding none, she shook her head. "Merlin, I don't recognize this place."

"Morgana, this," I pointed at the lake, "is Avalon." Morgana gasped. "Out there, somewhere, Arthur sleeps, awaiting our darkest hour, when he shall return once more to save his people."

Morgana stared at me. "Are you…Merlin, are you serious? You're not teasing me?" I said nothing. She looked out at the lake and tears welled in her eyes. "I always thought that was a myth," she said softly. "One of the bits that got added to the legend."

"You have never been able to find Arthur's soul," I told her, "Because he never died. I gave him to the Lady of the Lake myself. He rests in her keeping until our time of greatest need. That much of the legend is quite true."

"Merlin, I'm so sorry." I could hear the regret in her voice and see it in her eyes. "I'm so sorry for everything. There aren't words for—"

"I know, Morgana." I interrupted her before she could finish.

She looked surprised, "You do?"

I nodded. "I believe you. Everything you've said, I believe you. I can see the way you carry guilt around like a burden on your back. It's the same burden I carry with me every day."

"A day doesn't pass that I don't wish I could go back and undo the things I did."

I shook my head. "That's not what I meant. Do you remember what I said when I killed you?"

Morgana looked uncomfortable, but she nodded. "You said you blamed yourself for what happened to me. I've wondered about that ever since my memories were restored."

"I had so many chances to do things differently. I was so young, so blindly confident that I could change destiny and save everybody. Before you left Camelot, I could see how afraid you were of your own power, but I let you suffer alone. I practically drove you to Morgause. When she used you to cast the sleeping spell, instead of trying to help you, I tried to kill you. Morgana, I don't blame you for Arthur's death. I never did."

"Merlin…no…," she was starting to cry again.

"Arthur died because _I_ failed _you_!" I almost shouted, "It was my fault!" In a softer voice, I added, "You shouldn't be apologizing to me. I'm the one who should be begging for your forgiveness."

Morgana took me in her arms and held me tightly. "No, it wasn't your fault." Her body trembled as she wept. "I couldn't ever blame you, Merlin. You did the best you could in an impossible situation, no one could ask for more."

"I guess there's plenty of blame to go around," I said. I stepped back and looked at my one-time nemesis. "Morgana, nothing would make me happier than to call you a friend again." I looked out at the sun shimmering on the surface of the lake. "I think Arthur would approve."

"You miss him, don't you?"

I looked at her; to say I missed Arthur would be akin to saying that the ocean was deeper than a puddle. Sure, it was true, but it left volumes unsaid. Finally, I answered her question with another question. "Don't you?"

Morgana looked at the ground. "How long did you survive…after he died?"

I frowned, "What do you mean?"

"After you gave Arthur to the Lady of the Lake," she explained, "how much longer did you live?"

"Ah…I see. Well, um, he died sometime in the early sixth century, yes?"

"Give or take," Morgana nodded, "That sounds about right. I've never been able to figure the dates exactly."

"I guess that means I've outlived him by fifteen hundred years, give or take." Morgana's eyes grew wide. "And counting," I added.

"But, you can't mean…?"

I shrugged, "I am _Merlinus Ambrosius_, after all."

"Good heavens! That's why still you remember Camelot? Because you never died?" she said. "But how?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "I really don't know. Maybe I was born this way; maybe it's because the druids gave me a drink from the cup of life; maybe it happened when I went to the crystal cave to restore my power; maybe it was all of that. I stopped trying to understand it long ago."

"Oh, Merlin," she shook her head, "I can't even imagine what that must have been like."

"It hasn't always been easy," I acknowledged. "Dan has really been good for me."

"Yes," Morgana's brow creased in puzzlement, "Fanny told me he was your cousin. Last night didn't I hear him call you 'Dad'?"

"My adopted son," I said.

"Of course, I see."

"His parents died very shortly after he was born." I thought it might not be the right time to reveal how they died, since Morgana seemed to think the eruption of Mount St. Helens had something to do with her.

"His parents?" Morgana seemed shocked.

"Oh," I realized my _faux pas_. "The same thing happened to you didn't it? Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"No," she shook her head, "It's not…I mean…no, never mind. It's fine; don't worry about it. He seems like a good lad."

"He is," I agreed, "And, speaking of Dan, maybe we should be getting back. He's been very patient, but he must be getting bored waiting for us."

"Well, we can't have that," Morgana declared. "Merlin, thank you for bringing me here. It means a lot."

"It was my pleasure," I replied. I turned to go and offered Morgana my arm. She slipped her arm through mine, and, together, we walked back to the car. For the first time in a long time, I felt that everything was right with the world.


	7. Third Interlude

**Interlude – August 1975**

The days passed quickly for Brand and Merlin. Brand's wounds healed quickly under Merlin's ministrations. Merlin had forgotten how pleasant it could be to have someone else around. Brand was full of an insatiable curiosity about the things Merlin had seen and done, and Merlin was equally curious about the druids. He was astonished to learn that the druids had come to America early in the nineteenth century. "My great-great-great-great-grandfather was one of the first ones to make the crossing," Brand said proudly. "Europe was industrializing and making it harder and harder for our people to live close to nature. This was all before my time, but I've been told we'd left England more than a century before and spent time traveling with the Romany—the Gypsies, that is. My great-great-great-great-great—no, wait," Brand started again, counting each 'great' on his fingers, "my great-great-great-great-grandfather wanted to return our people to a simple, peaceful life. Eventually, we came to the American west. Even today, there are still a lot places where you can go for weeks without running into another human."

"No kidding," Merlin quipped.

"We wander from place to place. We've been down in the south-western deserts since before I was born: Arizona, New Mexico, southern California, that area. My grandfather—and that's grandfather without any 'greats'—he's the leader of our clan, and," Brand paused, "well, he's not got many years left. He always liked the forests best. Our clan is coming back to the coast, so he can see the forest again before he passes. These caves were where we made our home last time we were here. Connor and I were sent on ahead to see if they were still here and habitable."

What surprised Brand most of all was how much fun Emrys was to be around. Brand had always thought of Emrys as something larger than life, always very serious, and probably speaking with archaic 'thee's and 'thou's and adding too many 'e's and 'st's to his words. The Emrys he got to meet was a stimulating conversationalist, witty and clever, who took his responsibility for Brand's recovery very seriously. Brand found his protectiveness charmingly sweet. Emrys was sweet and kind and, as much as Brand tried to ignore it, very cute. When Emrys told Brand why he had retreated to his self-imposed isolation, Brand was surprised at the strength of the compassion that sprang up in him for Emrys' plight. Brand realized that he wanted very badly to help this lovely, lonely man. Emrys had saved Brand's life, and Brand couldn't help but want to help Emrys in return. So why did it feel like more than that? Brand sat up late into the night trying to convince himself that his desire was some delayed effect of the spell Emrys had cast to save him or trying to convince himself that it was just hero worship, but it didn't work. Emrys had found a place in Brand's heart and wouldn't easily be dislodged.

Late in the evening of Brand's sixth day with Merlin, the two of them were sitting on a rocky ledge, hanging their feet over the edge of a sheer drop of several hundred feet, watching the sun set below the far horizon. A soft breeze stirred Merlin's long hair, blowing it across his face. Merlin would tuck the stray hair behind his ears, where it would stay for several seconds before flowing loose again.

Brand laughed when Merlin poked his hair back into place for the umpteenth time. "I can't take this any more. Turn your head."

Merlin turned to face Brand. "What?"

Brand chuckled and rolled his eyes. "The other way. Turn your head the other way." Merlin turned away from Brand. Brand slipped a small knife from his belt and used it to clip a lock of Merlin's hair loose.

Merlin frowned, but didn't try to stop him. "What are you doing?"

"Just trust me," Brand said. He gathered the rest of Merlin's hair into a bundle and used the lock of hair he'd cut to loosely tie the bundle at the nape of Merlin's neck. "There," he said, "I'm done. Better?"

Merlin turned his head back and gave it an experimental shake. "Yeah, better," and he smiled the smile that made Brand's heart skip a beat.

"Good," Brand replied. He sighed, feeling unexpectedly melancholy. "Connor will probably arrive tomorrow."

Merlin picked up on the disappointment in Brand's voice and quirked an eyebrow. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah. It's just…I'll miss this, you know?"

"Miss what?" Merlin asked.

"This," Brand waved a hand at the sun sinking on the horizon. "And lunches together. And all of it."

"I do still plan to eat after the rest of clan gets here," Merlin teased. "And I'm pretty sure the sun will keep on rising and setting."

"Yeah, but everyone else will be here, too." Brand sighed. "Emrys, I—"

"Merlin," Merlin said quietly.

"What?"

"Merlin," he said again. "My friends call me Merlin, not Emrys."

"Oh." Brand blinked. "Merlin, then." Merlin nodded and smiled. Brand went on, "Merlin, I wanted to thank you for," he took a deep breath, "for being so understanding about…how I was acting after I first woke up."

"Nothing to worry about," Merlin assured him. "I told you, that spell has some weird side effects."

"I know," Brand said, "but I came on pretty strong. Thanks for, I don't know, not getting all judgy about it. I'm awfully glad my brother wasn't here for that."

"Really?" Merlin frowned. "The druids must have changed a lot more than I thought since I knew them. The druids I met before the war with Morgana were quite open-minded and tolerant."

Brand winced. "None of the others mind at all, really. Connor, on the other hand…it's not that he minds so much me being gay. It's just that he says we have a duty to the clan. There aren't that many of us, and there's fewer of us every year. Connor says I have a duty," Brand's voice got stricter and harsher, mimicking the many lectures he'd heard from Connor, "a responsibility to procreate and bring new lives into the clan. Our grandfather is one of our few sorcerers, so we, especially, have to carry on the family line. He keeps pressuring me to settle down with a nice wife and start a family."

"Bollocks!" Merlin swore with such force and vehemence that Brand nearly jumped in surprise. "If that's what he thinks, then let him go find a lass and start popping out babies." Merlin was growing angrier with each word. "How dare he try to dictate who you should love?" By this point, Merlin's hands were actually beginning to shake. "How fucking _dare_ he!?" Merlin appeared to notice his own agitation and stared at his hands until they stopped shaking. With a breath, he calmed himself. "Sorry," he said more calmly, "it's a bit of a sore subject." He paused to collect himself. "Brand, listen to me, it's not a good idea to try and force your heart to become something other than what it was born to be. I've tried to do it myself; it doesn't work, and you'll only hurt yourself in the long run."

"What happened?" Brand asked.

With casual nonchalance, Merlin said, "I accidentally ripped open a portal to another world, nearly got Prince Arthur killed, and would've released an ancient, vengeful, and angry god on the people of Albion if I hadn't been brought back to my senses in time." Brand stared at Merlin in dumb shock. Merlin chuckled, and added, "Okay, that's probably not likely to happen to you, but that doesn't mean it will hurt any less if you try to live a lie."

"You almost released a god?"

"That's a story for another time," Merlin replied. "Did you actually catch the point I was trying to make, or did you stop listening after the exciting bit?"

"Aye, I hear you." Impulsively, Brand quickly put his arm around Merlin and squeezed his shoulders in a quick half-hug that he hoped would pass as platonic. "Thank you."


	8. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – Present Day**

On a Friday evening two days after my reunion with Morgana, Dan and I were walking up the long, tree-lined drive that led to the house Morgana shared with Fanny. Fanny had, through Morgana, sent an invitation to join her for dinner. We hadn't seen Fanny since the first time we met in the Mayor's office. Morgana had told us that Fanny was terribly eager to meet us "for real."

"Are you sure about bringing wine?" Dan asked. "We don't even know if Fanny drinks."

"It's a traditional hostess gift," I pointed out. "If she doesn't drink, she can re-gift it to someone who does. And it would be impolite to show up empty-handed."

Morgana opened the door when we knocked. "Please, come in," she greeted us enthusiastically and took our coats. "Follow me, boys, Fanny's down in the kitchen." I was surprised to find Fanny wearing an apron and tasting a small spoonful of something she had pulled from a large pot on the stove. I suppose I had assumed that Morgana and Fanny would have a staff—at least a butler and a cook, maybe a maid or two. As if she read my mind, Morgana said, "It's just Fanny and I all alone in this big old house. The idea of servants always seemed a bit silly, just for the two of us. We have a lady who comes in twice a week to clean, and, of course, Luther keeps the grounds looking spectacular."

Fanny tossed the spoon she was tasting into the sink and picked up a larger spoon, with which she began stirring the pot's contents. She looked up from the stove when we entered. "Come in, come in! I must apologize for not shaking hands, but I'm afraid I've got to keep the soup moving or it's going to separate. Morgan, dear, won't you see if our guests would like an _apéritif_?"

"Actually," I interjected, "We brought this for you." I went into the kitchen to give Fanny the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc we brought.

"Ah!" Fanny's face lit up with delight. "Thank you; that will go wonderfully with the soup, but not at room temperature." She left the pot of soup long enough to stash the bottle of wine in the refrigerator. "We'll just let that chill for bit. Are you sure you wouldn't like something to drink?" She went on without waiting for me to answer. "Morgan, why don't you pour us four glasses of lemon water?" Aside to Dan and me, she added, "It's excellent for cleansing the palate before a meal."

Dan and I watched in awe as Fanny flew around the kitchen like a whirlwind preparing everything for dinner. Though we offered our help, Fanny assured us we'd only be in the way, and I was inclined to believe her. The tiny, elderly lady seemed never to be doing fewer than three things at once, constantly tasting, poking, stirring, chopping, grating, slicing, and who knows what else. Before we knew what was happening, Fanny was bringing everything to the table so we could all serve ourselves. Morgana retrieved the wine from the refrigerator and poured out four glasses which were placed on the table alongside our lemon waters.

The table was loaded with rolls fresh from the oven, green beans in a sort of lemon butter, a creamy potato soup with baby spinach and smoked Gouda, and marinated chicken, pan roasted with leeks and pomegranates. The smell was intoxicating. When Fanny finally sat down at the table she surveyed everything on the table. "Excellent!" she declared, with evident satisfaction. "And may I add that I'm delighted to have the chance to meet you again. My dear mother, rest her soul, would've had an easier time making me learn to cook if I'd known that I'd be entertaining Merlin and his son at my dinner table someday."

"I'd say her efforts paid off and then some," said Dan, after licking some of the lemon butter off of his fingertip.

"Oh, yes," I agreed. "Fanny, this is absolutely superb. The best dinner an old bachelor has had in a long time."

Morgana laughed quietly. "Yes, I recall some of Arthur's stories about your cooking. I do hope you're feeding Dan something a bit better than rat stew."

"I only tried to feed rat to Arthur once!" I protested. "And we were in the middle of a famine." I grinned devilishly, "You didn't seem to mind it that much, when we shared it with you."

Morgana closed her eyes and shuddered. "Desperate times," was her only reply.

Fanny's eyes sparkled with delight. "I don't think you've told me that story, Morgan."

Dan gave me a speculative look. "And I think you left out that one, too, Dad." Dan and Fanny exchanged glances and then looked expectantly at Morgana and me.

"Well?" prompted Fanny. "Do tell. We're waiting."

Dinner passed quickly, though not quietly. Morgana and I exchanged stories of Camelot and more recent times and answered an endless stream of questions from Fanny. All of us revelled in the delicious feast Fanny had prepared. After dinner, we adjourned to a small drawing room, not yet ready for the evening to end. I was regaling my companions with a story from the middle ages.

"So Geoffrey and I decided to go for drinks at the local tavern," I laughed. "The drunken sot spent one evening pressing me for details about Arthur and Camelot. He was so drunk, I didn't think he'd remember anything the next morning. A few months later, I heard that Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth was publishing his seminal work on the history of Britain's kings: _Historia Regum Britanniae_."

Morgana put a hand to her mouth to cover her laughter. "Oh! Oh, my! That explains a lot."

Fanny wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. "Dear me, how unfortunate. Weren't you ever tempted to try and set the record straight?"

"To what end?" I asked. "There wouldn't have been any more evidence to back up my claim than there was for Geoffrey's. It would just have been my word against his. If I'd tried to claim I was Geoffrey's _Merlinus_, people would've called me a liar…" I considered for a moment, "Or burned me at the stake. That wasn't a good time to be known as a sorcerer."

"When was it ever?" quipped Morgana.

"True enough."

"I just can't get over it," Fanny said, shaking her head, "Merlin and Morgana, sitting in my living room."

"Don't forget most of Camelot down in the village," said Dan.

"And the castle itself, practically on our doorstep," Morgana added.

"Did you know you were so close to Camelot?" I asked.

Fanny shook her head. "Oh, no. I asked Morgan about that many, many times, but she was never sure where it had been."

"The land has changed so much since those days," Morgana pointed out. "I knew Cabislayne was in the right area, but I couldn't quite pinpoint the actual location of the castle."

"During tea in Calvin's office, you both said you were here because you were interested in the excavation," Fanny recalled. "Was that true, or just a cover story?"

"Oh, quite true," Dan said. "I'd really like to see the place after hearing so much about it from Dad."

Fanny looked at Morgana and raised an eyebrow.

"Have I mentioned that after I came back to Cabislayne, I went back to college?" asked Morgana. "I finished my undergraduate degree and several graduate degrees in early British history. As it happens, I've recently been asked to join the team working on the castle in an advisory role. I could certainly bring along a couple of 'grad students' as assistants." she made air quotes around "grad students."

"I don't know, Dad," Dan teased, "Do you think you could manage to pass as a history student?"

"Somehow, Dan, I have a feeling I could just scrape by."

Fanny clapped her hands and looked very pleased. "It's settled, then. Morgan, you'll have to call the university first thing Monday morning to tell them you accept their offer." Somewhere outside the room a large clock began to chime the hour. We all stopped talking for a moment, counting the number of times the bell was struck. "Goodness," Fanny said, "Midnight already? Two spinsters entertaining gentlemen callers late into the night." She spoke with evident delight. "People will be talking tomorrow."

Morgana put a hand to her face to cover an embarrassed blush. "Oh, for goodness' sake, Fanny!"

"What?" Fanny assumed an air of mock-innocence. "If people aren't gossiping about me, then I'm not being interesting enough."

"Well, we should probably be on our way," I said, "It is getting late."

"I can't tell you how much I enjoyed this," declared Fanny.

"And we can't tell you how much we enjoyed your cooking," Dan added.

Fanny smiled. "It was a pleasure. We must do it again sometime soon."

"We definitely must," said Morgana. "Come, I'll walk you to the door." She went with us to the door, retrieving our coats from a closet on the way. "Have the two of you seen much of Cabislayne yet?"

"Just some of the shops around the town square," I answered, "But we were hoping to explore a bit more this weekend."

"Hmmm." Morgana thought for a moment before she continued. "If I can make a suggestion, you should consider taking breakfast in Mort's café tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning at 8:30."

Dan looked at Morgana. "That's rather specific. Any particular reason?"

"Well, yes…obviously," she seemed unsure of herself, "But you should probably see it for yourself."

My curiosity was piqued. "Mort's café at 8:30," I repeated, "We'll be there."

\- x - x - x - x - x -

Dan and I arrived at Mort's a bit before 8:30 the next morning still wondering why Morgana wanted us to be here and in desperate need of coffee. After the late night with Morgana and Fanny, we hadn't had much time for sleep before it was time to come in to Mort's. It looked like the place was still empty. Cabislayne didn't appear to be a town that rushed into its weekend mornings. A small bell jingled when we walked through the café's door, and Mort looked up to see who it was.

"Ah, my two newest customers!" He greeted us with a smile. "What can I get for you on a gorgeous Saturday morning?"

"Two coffees, please, Mordr…Mort, as large and as strong as you can get."

Dan yawned hugely and held up a hand. "Cream in mine, please."

"I think I can manage that." Mort set two large mugs on the bar and poured steaming black coffee from a carafe on the counter behind him. He left a bit of room in one and retrieved a pot of cream from a fridge underneath the bar. While I waited for my coffee to cool, Dan poured some cream into his and took a sip.

"Mmmm…" he closed his eyes and inhaled the aroma as the coffee began to work its magic.

"What brings you two out so early?" asked Mort.

"We thought we'd poke around the place a bit, get to know the town better," said Dan.

"Is there a chemist's in town?" I asked. "We're going to be helping Lady Morgan out at the dig. If the weather stays as nice as it has been, we're going to need some sunscreen."

"Sure, sure," Mort replied, "It's a bit off the beaten path. I'd prob'ly better draw you a map." On the back of a paper placemat (the front had an advertisement for Mort's full English breakfast), Mort began to draw a rough map of the village, marking the café and various landmarks we'd need to find. The chemist's turned out to be near the edge of town, but no place in Cabislayne was very far from any other—the town simply wasn't large enough.

I thanked Mort for the directions and put the folded map in my pocket. "And now," I took another sip of the coffee, "I think I need to try that English breakfast. It looked too good to pass up."

Dan nodded, "Make that two."

"Two full English, coming right up." Mort bustled off to the back kitchen.

The clock over the counter read 8:34. Dan saw me looking at the clock and grinned. "I don't get the feeling this place runs on a to-the-minute schedule," he said.

"Fanny probably sees punctuality as being too 'predictable'," I observed. Just then the bell sounded again. I looked up at the woman who was walking through the door and stared.

If my staring offended her, she didn't show it. "Hi there, you must be Dan," she smiled warmly, "or Merlin." Her voice was soft and mellow.

"Merlin," I confirmed, pointing at myself. "You know our names?"

"Two new people have been in town for more than a day…I don't think there's anyone left who doesn't know your names. News travels fast around here." She shrugged eloquently. "I'm Helen. My husband—he's Benjamin, by the way—heard about you from Mayor Calvin on his way home two days ago. And, of course, Fanny mentioned you in passing when I bumped into her at the grocer's the day after that."

Another jingle of the bell heralded the arrival of Benjamin, who came up and slid an arm around his wife's waist. "I see you've already found our new arrivals," he said.

"I was just explaining how everybody knows everything about everyone around here," she replied.

"We're a village of gossips," Benjamin remarked with wry humour.

"Oh!" Helen protested indignantly, "We're not gossips. Ask anyone…they'll tell you we're not gossips and give you the latest scoop on your neighbours while you're there." She kissed Benjamin's cheek. "I need to run to the ladies'. Be right back."

While Benjamin went to hang up his coat, Dan turned and gave me an inquisitive stare, trying to ask a question without actually saying anything. I grabbed a napkin from the counter and the pen Mort had used to draw the map, discretely jotted a few words, and passed the napkin to Dan. When Dan read the napkin, his eyes got wide. Benjamin came to sit on the stool next to mine while Dan scribbled another note on the napkin.

"So, what brings you two to Cabislayne?" Benjamin asked. "I should probably add that you'll be asked that question dozens of times in the next few weeks. I hope you're not tired of it yet."

"Not yet," I assured him, "But you're only the sixth…no, wait…the seventh person to ask so far.

"We wanted to see Camelot," Dan explained. "The chance to stay nearby for a while was just too good to pass up."

Benjamin nodded. "I can understand that. It's really something to find a piece of history in your own backyard." He looked up as Helen returned and joined him on the next stool over.

I took the opportunity to glance at the napkin Dan had returned to me. My message was scrawled at the top in my messy handwriting: 'Mom &amp; Dad.' Dan's message below was even more succinct: 'YOURS?!' Even on a napkin, his penmanship was perfect. I met Dan's eyes and nodded slightly. He silently mouthed, "Wow." I couldn't help the big grin that spread across my face.

Mort came back from the kitchen carrying two plates loaded with eggs, toast, tomatoes, mushrooms, and black pudding. "Do I hear my Saturday regulars?" he called as he came around the corner.

"Saturday regulars?" I asked.

Mort refilled our coffees, emptying the carafe. "Helen and Benjamin come in for breakfast every Saturday morning, regular as clockwork" he explained. He started brewing another pot of coffee to replace the one we'd emptied. "I start worrying if I don't hear from you two by nine."

Benjamin laughed, "Last time both of us missed a Saturday morning at Mort's was when Helen was in hospital over in Colchester to have her appendix out. Must have been, oh, about five years ago."

"Six years, dear," Helen corrected.

Dan and I chatted with Helen and Benjamin as we ate. Helen was much the same as I remembered Hunith, my mother, yet also quite different. Helen had more energy than I remember in my mother. My mother always seemed worn by worry and trouble—worn but never broken. Hunith had an unbreakable inner strength which had become in Helen a fierce _joie de vivre_, as indomitable as it was contagious. Balinor, of course, I had barely known. I barely had a chance to meet him before he was taken away from me again. It warmed my heart to get to meet him again as Benjamin and to see the way he truly cared for my mother.

When we told them we were planning to see more of the village that morning, Helen insisted we had to accompany to her brother's shop after breakfast. "He's the only pharmacist in town, but, really, he's more of an old-fashioned apothecary. His shop is full of strange little curiosities and interesting things. And toys for the children, of course," she added as an afterthought.

"Actually, we were already thinking of heading that way," Dan said. "Assuming your brother's shop is the one on the north edge of town."

"That's the one," confirmed Helen. "He lives in apartments above the shop, too. Jason—that's my brother—gets so involved in his work, he never likes to be very far from it."

"He's got a real talent for healing folks, though," Benjamin added.

We finished our meals and paid Mort, leaving a generous tip. Before we left, Mort handed Dan and I two more coffees in to-go cups. "On the house," he insisted when I tried to pay him. "You two look like you need these."

Helen took us through Cabislayne, pointing out interesting places, waving at people in their yards, and introducing us to anyone who asked. As Benjamin had predicted, nearly everybody we met wanted to know what brought us to Cabislayne/our humble home/our neck of the woods/our little village. Fortunately, Helen was more than willing to take over the introductions. Privately, I suspected that knowing more about us than anyone else was earning her some sort of bonus points on the gossip scoreboard.

While Ben and Helen were talking to a nice older couple, Dan pulled me aside. "So that's really Hunith and Balinor?"

"In spirit, at least," I confirmed.

"That's got to be…well," Dan was at a loss for words, "Well, I don't even know what that's got to be like."

"I always wanted this for my mother, before she died. I wished I could have done more to make her life easier." I watched Helen talking animatedly with her companions. "I'm glad she's found this place, and Benjamin, in this life."

Dan studied me closely. "But there's more, isn't there? You don't seem very glad."

I shook my head. "I don't know. I'm not really sure what I'm feeling; it's going to take a while to process all of this. I don't think the day's surprises are over, yet, either."

"Really?" Dan looked curious. "What else?"

"Family relationships here seem to be the same as they were in Camelot, so, unless I miss my guess, Helen's brother 'Jason' is almost certainly Gaius."

"Of course!" Dan's curiosity turned quickly into excitement, "I should have remembered. It sounds like he hasn't changed much, still working as a healer."

"Gaius has healing in his blood. He always finds ways to help relieve suffering no matter when he is."

Dan quirked an eyebrow. "Don't you mean, no matter 'where' he is."

"Sure," I replied noncommittally, "That, too."

Helen finished catching up with her friends and waved for us to catch up. The pharmacy stood a short distance away atop a small hillock of earth. The surrounding area had been landscaped into a series of stepped gardens connected by a winding gravel path which eventually led up to the house. As we passed through the gardens, I identified a number of medicinal herbs and plants as well as less exotic squashes, melons, and vegetables. Jason's healer's hands apparently had two green thumbs.

Helen yoo-hooed for Jason when we walked through the house. I had to smile when I saw the shop. It would barely have been out of place in Gaius' tower in Camelot. Sure, there was a microscope on the table instead of carefully hand-ground lenses, and the various bubbling flasks and beakers were lit by gas burners instead of oil torches, but it was very much as I remembered Gaius' workshop. I poked around a setup which appeared to be extracting essential oils from a vat of leaves using evaporative cooling. Although most of the equipment was standard fare, I noticed there were a few custom pieces which Jason had probably made himself.

I got a prickly feeling on the back of my neck and looked up from the extraction setup. A white-haired old man was staring at me with a very familiar look of suspicion. "Those leaves are particularly sensitive to changes in temperature," the man, who could only have been Jason, explained. "The oil can't be extracted from the leaves at anything less than sixty-eight Celsius, but if they reach seventy, the proteins which make the oil so useful will denature and the whole thing will be useless."

"That's fascinating," I said, and I meant it. "How to you keep the temperature so stable?"

"By keeping inquisitive youngsters from messing with things they shouldn't touch," he said, meaningfully. I took the hint and backed up a couple of steps. He came closer and his expression softened. "The insulation around the flask," he pointed to the large flask that held the leaves in a solution of simmering liquid. The bulbous flask was wrapped in some sort of heavy cloth. "That fabric has heating elements coiled through it, like a small electric blanket. They're hooked to the probe inside the flask," he indicated a slender thread of wire that passed through the flask's stopper and rested in its contents, "Which is monitored by a thermostat. The thermostat keeps the temperature at a constant sixty-nine C, plus or minus a quarter degree or so."

"Impressive," put in Dan, who had been listening nearby.

"It's a pretty common extraction method," Jason said modestly, "Any pharmacist worth his salt could do the same."

"But how many actually do their own extractions?" Dan asked. "Most of them just order what they need from their local medical distributor."

"I suppose that's true," Jason admitted.

"Thus, this setup is impressive," Dan concluded.

Jason chuckled. "I certainly can't argue with such logic."

"Do you make all your own remedies?" I asked.

Jason shook his head. "Oh, goodness no. I make my own medicines when it's cheaper than, as you say, buying from the distributor, or when I need something that isn't readily available." He shook his head again, "There simply isn't enough time in the day to do everything by myself."

"You need an assistant," I remarked, "a protégé."

Jason reached out to tweak a small dial on the thermostat. "Perhaps." He studied the thermostat for a moment and then turned the dial back to its original setting. "You didn't come here to listen to me prattle on about my work, though. What can I do for you?"

I wanted to tell him that there was nothing I'd rather do than stay there all day, talking shop and learning about his work. But as far as Jason was concerned, we were perfect strangers, so, instead, I told him we needed sun block.

Later that evening Dan and I were sitting in our living room near a cozy fire. I was holding a cup of tea in my hands, staring into the amber liquid and watching the light reflecting off of its surface. Although my eyes were mesmerized by the shifting flashes of light, my mind was worlds away. I'm not sure how long I sat there staring into the tea before I realized Dan was talking to me.

"Sorry," I looked up from the tea. "What was that?"

"Are you okay?" Dan made a face. "I seem to be asking that a lot since we arrived in Cabislayne. Seriously, though, are you okay? You've been quiet all day."

"It's…" I searched for the right words. "It's harder than I expected to see all my friends and family, especially my family, and to be a complete stranger to them." I was feeling terribly conflicted. "It's wonderful to see them so happy, it really is, but…but…"

"But you miss them," Dan finished for me, "and you can't even tell them how you feel."

"I had almost forgotten how much I missed them until I saw them all again."

Dan nodded, understanding dawning. "I can see how that would be difficult."

"I'm glad Morgana invited us to the dig. It will be good to occupy my mind with some work."

"Do you think we'll find anything exciting at Camelot?" Dan's eyes were beginning to shine the way they used to when he unwrapped his presents on Christmas morning.

I laughed. "More exciting than a village full of reincarnations of the denizens of Camelot? No thank you! I'll be perfectly happy to just have a few quiet months."

"You say that now," teased Dan. "I bet you'll be bored out of your mind in less than a month if nothing happens."

He was probably right. I'd never been one to sit still for very long. "Well, I just hope we get a chance to find out."


	9. Fourth Interlude

**Interlude – August 1975**

Early in the morning, Merlin and Brand stood in the forest clearing where they had first met, waiting patiently. "Are you sure they're coming?" Brand asked.

Merlin shifted his gnarled wood staff from one hand to the other. "They're coming," was his confident reply. "They've already crossed through the wards protecting this area."

"Are you sure they'll find us? Maybe we should go meet them."

"Patience, Brand," Merlin counselled. "Better to let them find me than risk another misunderstanding like our first meeting."

"But they might—"

"Brand," Merlin injected a firm note of authority into his voice and silenced Brand's protests. "Your people will show themselves when they are ready." Brand glanced sideways at Merlin, afraid that he had annoyed him. One look at Merlin's amused smile set that worry to rest. Merlin returned Brand's glance and seemed to reach a decision. He raised his voice and spoke clearly. "That said, I fail to see what purpose is served by making us wait. I assure you, I wish no harm to the druids."

Brand gave Merlin a confused look which turned into a surprised look a moment later when his grandfather stepped out from behind one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. Even though the day was quite pleasant, his grandfather was wrapped warmly in heavy woven robe, lined with rabbit fur. The heavy robe emphasized the frailty of the tiny man wearing it. His short-cropped hair was white, but his eyes, dark, like Brand's, still burned with a fierce intellect. Close behind his grandfather followed Connor and one of their cousins, both carrying bows. Brand was somewhat relieved to see that, although both archers had arrows nocked in their bows, neither bow was drawn.

"Our apologies," his grandfather said, "but caution seemed warranted. We do not want, as you say, another 'misunderstanding' as before." Brand couldn't miss the emphasis placed on the word misunderstanding and wondered what Connor had told their grandfather about the incident. He was going to try and explain to his grandfather that it really had been an accident when he felt a gentle touch on his arm.

Brand heard Merlin's voice in his head. _He must make this decision without your help. I'm sorry, Brand, but you have been alone with me for six days. In that time, even without magic, I might have done any number of things to make you say whatever I want you to say._

Brand's frustration mounted. He wasn't sure if Merlin could hear him or not, but he tried anyway. _Yeah, you did things like protect me, heal me, and save my life. You'd never _make_ me do anything—_as soon as he thought it, he realized that that wasn't actually true, and the correction was in his head before he could stop it. _Whether you mean to or not, I think you're going to make me fall in love with you._ Brand tensed, waiting for Merlin's reaction. However, if Merlin had heard him, he didn't give any sign of it.

Merlin addressed himself to Brand's grandfather. "I believe I also said that I do not intend your people any harm. There is more than enough room in the caves for all of us."

The man's voice sounded clearly in Merlin's mind. _You will forgive us if we choose to decide that for ourselves. Even Emrys was not always known to be friendly to the druids._

Merlin projected his own reply into the minds of everyone in the clearing, including the eight others hidden in the trees. _Even the druids sided with Morgana in the end._ He felt a smug satisfaction when he heard a surprised cry from up in one of the trees.

"Your point is true," sighed the old man. "People seeking to subvert prophecy made poor choices."

"There were many unfortunate choices made on both sides," Merlin pointed out. "But that burden is mine alone to carry. I do not hold you responsible for the actions of your ancient forebears."

"So you claim that you are the immortal Emrys?" He seemed amused. "Very well. You won't object if we ask for proof?"

"Of course not," Merlin shook his head with a friendly smile. "I'd be surprised if you didn't."

Brand's grandfather pulled two wrapped oblong bundles from inside his cloak.

"Swords?" Merlin looked hesitant. "You surely don't expect me to fight someone to prove who I am?"

The little old man held both of the bundles out to Merlin. "Please, what can you tell me about these blades?"

Merlin took one of the swords and unwrapped it, pulling the sword from its scabbard and turning the blade over in his hands. A golden plate covered the lower half of each side of the blade; each plate bore a runic inscription. "Take me up," Merlin read aloud and, turning the sword over, "Cast me away." He took the sword in his hand and tested its balance. "I really must congratulate you," he told those watching. "I've never seen a copy that came even close to this level of detail, but," he looked up at the old man, "if this sword is Excalibur, I'm Mickey Mouse."

Slowly Brand's grandfather began to laugh. "Very good, very good."

Merlin re-wrapped the sword and handed it back. "Do I pass?" he asked with a touch of acerbity. When he received no reply, Merlin unwrapped the next bundle, revealing another sword within. Merlin reached for the exposed handle to pull the sword from the package. As soon as his fingers touched the hilt of the sword, he gasped and dropped the entire bundle in shock. His voice held bile when he said, "What are you doing with a piece like that?" He spat out the words like they were poison.

"A piece like what?" asked the old man innocently.

Merlin used his staff to push the wrapping away from the sword so the blade could be seen. He pointed the end of the staff at the chipped edge of the blade, where a piece was missing. In a voice as cold as the steel of the sword, he said, "What are you doing with the sword that slew Arthur Pendragon?"

The old man knelt down and carefully wrapped the sword again. "Such a blade is not something that should be left for a random passer-by to discover. We protect such items from falling into the wrong hands, as did the druids of ancient Albion," he stood up and looked Merlin in the eye. "Emrys, it is my honour to make your acquaintance. I am Falco Moore, leader of my clan."

"There are no hands that could wield that blade for anything but evil," Merlin said. "It shouldn't be hidden; it should be destroyed."

Falco smiled pleasantly. "Does Emrys know a way to destroy a dragon-forged blade?"

Merlin opened his mouth to reply and then shut it again. "You have a point," he grudgingly admitted. Then, more pleasantly, "I am pleased to meet you, Falco. It gladdens me more than you can know to learn that the druids still survive."

"As it gladdens us to once more meet Emrys in friendship." Falco studied Brand closely. Merlin had pronounced Brand completely healed several days ago, but Falco must have seen or sensed something of the true extent of Brand's wounds. "Your injuries were worse than you led Connor to believe, I see. Am I correct that Emrys is responsible for restoring your health?" Brand simply nodded. Falco placed a hand over his heart and turned back to Merlin. "Emrys, I am in your debt for your service to my grandson."

"It was my pleasure," Merlin assured him. He smiled at Brand, "Truly, my pleasure. I've enjoyed Brand's company immensely. Besides," Merlin looked a bit sheepish, "it was my fault that he was hurt in the first place."

Falco looked back at Connor with a critical eye and said, "Was it really? Well, perhaps we can dispense with the laying of blame and simply accept the good fortune that came from a bad situation, yes?"

Merlin nodded. "I would like that."

Falco adroitly changed subjects. "You mentioned the caves earlier. They are still habitable? We weren't certain they would still be intact after so long."

"Oh, yes," Merlin replied. "Still quite habitable. When were your people here last, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Many, many years ago," Falco's eyes unfocused as he looked inward, back through his memories. "1916? 1915?" He shook his head, "I'm not sure. I think we left just before my twentieth birthday, so it must have been 1916."

"Well, they've endured well," Merlin said. "I've expanded some areas, shored up some weak spots, made a few improvements."

"He's got plumbing in the caves!" Brand added excitedly. Falco looked impressed.

"Plumbing of a sort," Merlin clarified modestly. "Not exactly tap faucets, but running water, at any rate, in the main sections. The cave network spiderwebs out into many smaller caves which I've never fully explored."

"Yes, yes," Falco recalled, "there were several large central caverns we used as common areas and families used the smaller surrounding caves as residences."

"I would be more than happy to make the same arrangements again." Merlin tilted his head to the side, trying to inventory all his supplies in his head. "I would need, perhaps, a few hours to move all my things into one of the smaller caves."

"Oh, we couldn't," Falco tried to object. "We have no particular claim on this territory; I had simply hoped the caves would still be empty."

"Nonsense, there's plenty of room for all of us. Let's see," Merlin considered, "There's a small cavern, not far from the entrance, on the northern edge of the tunnel network. I've been using it as my library. I would be quite content if I could stay there, and the clan can have the rest."

Falco bowed his head. "If you really don't mind, then we would be happy to accept your offer." He held up a frail hand, signalling to the rest of the druids in the clearing, and pointed behind him. Connor and the other bowman melted back into the woods, and Merlin heard rustling as the unseen druids in the surrounding woods withdrew. "Not knowing what we would find today, most of our people were left behind at our camp, not far from here. We will go back to them and return tomorrow with the rest of the clan. Shall we meet here in the morning?"

"I will look forward to it," Merlin said. "I'll be finished with my preparations by the time you return."

"I could stay and help," Brand blurted out. Falco turned a quiet gaze on his grandson, and Brand looked down at his feet. "I mean, I'm already learning my way around the caves, I could help Emrys move his things." The excuse sounded weak, even to his own ears. "Many hands, light work, right?" he mumbled. Another thought occurred to him and he looked up excitedly. "It's the least I owe Emrys for saving my life, right?"

Falco smiled, and Brand got the feeling, as he always did when talking to his grandfather, that he had no secrets which the old man hadn't guessed long before. Falco gave a single nod of his head. "As you say, Grandson, many hands make light work. Your parents will look forward to seeing you tomorrow." Brand couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face, and, anyway, he didn't want to stop it. He got one more day with Merlin before he had to go back to real life.

On their way back to the caves, Brand asked Merlin, "You really think you can get all your stuff into the library? There's hardly gonna be any room left for you."

"Oh, I suspect we'll manage," Merlin said vaguely. "For one thing, we can leave everything that's in the kitchen and the infirmary where it is. The clan can use those supplies as easily as I can and probably has more need of them."

"For 'one' thing? What are the other things?"

"Just one more thing," replied Merlin, "you'll see." And see Brand did. When they got back to the caves, Merlin went straight to the library and stood facing an empty spot on the back wall, about five feet across. Holding out his hands, Merlin began to chant under his breath. Brand's jaw dropped as he watched the shape of an arched doorway begin to dissolve out of the stone. The shape of the doorway expanded away from Merlin, opening into a large room. Beyond the first room, the stone continued dissolving away into several more rooms adjoining the first.

After the stone had finished reshaping itself to Merlin's will, Merlin said, "_Goleuo,_" and made a throwing motion with one hand. Half-a-dozen or so of the glittering spheres of light appeared out of the air and hung so as to light the new rooms Merlin had created. "There," Merlin said. "That will do until we can get some lamps in here." Finally, Merlin looked back at Brand, and Brand saw golden light fading out of his eyes. Merlin, looking immensely satisfied with himself, asked, "Shall we get to work?"

Between the two of them, it didn't take long to clear Merlin's things out of the caves into the new rooms he had created. Anything that would be of use to the druids was left out in the 'common areas,' as Falco had termed them. They had finished by dinnertime, and they stood in the library, admiring the new rooms. The cavern directly adjoining the library had been turned in to a sort of drawing room, where Merlin could receive guests. Beyond that, were a couple storage rooms, a private study, and a bedroom with what Brand considered a truly remarkable attached bathroom, given that Merlin had carved it all directly from stone.

"I think these will do nicely," Merlin said approvingly.

"You can say that again," Brand said, still slightly in awe of what Merlin had done.

Slipping an arm around Brand's shoulder, Merlin added, "You know, I wasn't just being polite when I told Falco that I've enjoyed your company this past week." Brand's heart suddenly jumped into his throat. "I hope you'll be able to spare some time to visit once in a while after your family arrives."

"Merlin," Brand took a deep breath, "did you hear what I thought this morning? After you stopped me from trying to explain things to grandfather, did you hear me?"

Merlin's expression turned to puzzlement. "What you thought?" He shook his head. "No, I didn't hear anything."

"Oh." Brand tried not to let his disappointment show. He forced himself to put on a cheerful expression. "Do you really think I'll stop coming around once everyone gets here?" He gave Merlin a playful punch on the arm. "You won't get rid of me that easily."

"Good," Merlin smiled, "I'm glad."


	10. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – Present Day**

On the next Monday, Dan, Morgana, and I all drove out to the dig site, arriving around 6:30 in the morning. Even this early, there were already people gathered to watch. The idea of Camelot still drew crowds more than a thousand years after the kingdom itself became little more than legend. Morgana showed photo ID to the guards at the gate and we were ushered through the gate to a cluster of tents not far from the entrance. The tents were large and made of heavy white canvas. The sides could quickly be pulled in tight to protect the tents' contents and occupants if the weather turned inclement, but, right now, the sides were rolled back to let in the sun and fresh breeze. It also allowed us a glimpse of what was happening in the tents.

Most had long tables set up where people sifted dirt or cleaned larger lumps of dirt with tiny brushes, hoping to find something inside. A few of the tents held maps and charts of the dig site. We were led to one of the tents full of maps where we found a man deep in concentration bent over a large aerial view of the meadow. He seemed more like a museum curator than someone who spent a lot of time in the field. He had the look of a bookish type, accentuated by a pair of Coke-bottle spectacles. A tweed jacket with brown patches on the sleeves, presumably his, hung over the back of one of the chairs. His hair, which was thinning on top, and his small bottle-brush moustache were dark brown but beginning to show streaks of grey.

He was leaning over a large picture of the meadow with one hand hovering over the map, which had a grid pattern overlaid on the image of the meadow. He muttered to himself and pointed to a square on the map, then looked up at the report he held in his other hand. I wasn't sure what the report contained, but it seemed to make sense to him. To me, it looked like a black-and-white image of rippling sand. He looked from it back to the map and pointed to one of the grids. "Yes," he whispered under his breath, "that's got to be it."

"Got to be what?" asked Morgana.

The man looked up, startled. "Oh!" He dropped the report in his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had company."

"Quite alright," Morgana picked up the report the man had dropped. "Hmm, if the GPR is accurate, the castle is much larger than anyone expected." She glanced at the aerial map. "In fact, I'd say we're standing over the outer limits of the castle right now."

"Yes, yes," our new friend agreed excitedly, "Camelot appears to be much more than just a military fortress. There's an entire outlying village buried down there as well. The castle itself appears to just be the citadel at the centre of a much larger construct." His expression turned to puzzlement. "But how did you…?" He looked at Morgana for a moment before recognition dawned and he realized who she was. "Oh my goodness!" he exclaimed and held out his hand. "Lady Fay, forgive me, I completely forgot you were arriving today. I'm Doctor Connor Moore, and I have the privilege of being in charge of this dig."

"Nothing to worry about," Morgana replied with a gracious charm. "I know how it is when one gets wrapped up in one's work. And, please, call me Morgan. These are two of my graduate students," she indicated Dan and I, "Dan and Merlin Ambrose, cousins. They've come to assist me."

Dr. Moore's eyebrows went up. "I hadn't heard you were taking students. Of course, they're welcome here if you're vouching for them." He looked at each of us in turn as he spoke. "Merlin and Morgan Fay on the same side at last, eh? Heheheh," he gave a small nervous laugh at his own joke. "I suppose you must get that a lot."

Morgana laughed merrily; no one knew how to work people like Morgana did. What's the old expression, 'breeding tells,' or something like that? Morgana was a born aristocrat. Charming people and putting them at their ease came to her as naturally as breathing. "Not at all," she assured him, which, I reflected, was actually true, since we'd only been reunited a few days ago.

Connor smiled happily. "Well, then, shall I show you around?" He gestured toward the meadow.

"We'd be delighted," replied Morgana. "If you have time, of course," she added with just the right amount of concern.

"No trouble at all," he assured her. "Come." He led us out into the meadow and took us around the perimeter of the active excavations. The dig wasn't much further along than it had been a couple weeks ago when Dan and I first visited. As we walked around the meadow, Connor explained what they were doing and where they were focusing. At times he and Morgana got into very technical discussions, most of which went over my head. We were just coming around to the "front" of the castle, if such a word is appropriate when most of the castle is beneath your feet, when I suddenly got very dizzy.

I stumbled and then the dizziness passed. When I looked up, I gasped aloud. Before me was the castle of Camelot, in all its glory. The white stone walls shone in the sunlight; flags, pennants, and banners fluttered from windows and towers; and people bustled all around us, hurrying about their business. It took me a moment to realize they were dressed as we had dressed back in Arthur's day. We were standing near one of the gates between the castle and the town. I stared, not sure what to make of this.

"Tell me you're seeing this too," Dan whispered from beside me.

"I am," I replied. Then, "wait…YOU can see this?"

Dan pointed at Morgana, "I think she can, too." Morgana and Connor were some distance away from us, but Morgana was looking back at us, wide-eyed and bit frightened. Connor didn't seem to have noticed anything, still going on about the excavation. My vision suddenly went black and then flickered unsettlingly. I couldn't tell what had happened until my vision cleared and I saw a horse-drawn cart pulling away from me.

I started talking before my brain had finished processing what just happened. "Did that cart just…did it…right through me?" I watched as the same cart drove toward Morgana. The driver didn't appear at all concerned that he was about to run someone over. Morgana shut her eyes as the cart came up to her and passed directly through her. The cart drove off down the road, apparently unaware of anything unusual. I felt the queasiness returning; the castle and the people blurred. I blinked, trying to focus on something. Soon my vision cleared and everything was gone again. We were in the middle of the meadow listening to Conner explain about the excavation of Camelot's higher towers beneath our feet.

Dan looked up at me, eyes wide clearly frightened by what had just happened. I met Morgana's eyes. She and I had more experience with this sort of thing than Dan, but I could tell she was as unnerved as I was by the vision. Connor continued his monologue, apparently oblivious that anything had happened. Morgana gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders. Whatever had happened, she didn't know anything more about than I did. I responded with a shrug of my own. Connor began to circle back around to the cluster of tents and we all followed.

"Dad," Dan's voice was tense, "what the hell was that?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea," I tried to sound unconcerned, "but it doesn't seem to have caused any harm, whatever it was. When we have a moment alone with Morgana, we'll discuss it further. For now, just try to act normal."

"And if it happens again?"

"You wanted to see Camelot, didn't you?" I quipped. "Now you've got the chance to see the castle in its glory days."

"But why—"

"Later," I shushed him. "Wild speculation will only muddy the waters at this point. Try not to think about it until we can talk to Morgana.

Dan looked sceptical. "But what can she tell you that you don't already know? You know more about magic than anyone alive, including her."

"True enough," I conceded, "But Morgana knows more about the old religion than anyone alive, including me. Camelot was originally built by disciples of the old ways, long, long before the Pendragon dynasty." We had returned to the tent village and any further discussion had to be silenced. There were too many people around, too many prying ears that might overhear. Connor asked Morgana if she would help catalogue the artefacts that were being dug up. They had teams of people sifting through every shovelful of dirt for any small artefacts. They tagged and set aside everything that looked like it might be man-made, but no one had begun to go through the items set aside to determine what they were or what they might mean.

Connor took the three of us to the tent where the items were being kept. Arrayed on several rows of tables were hundreds of artefacts, each with a small tag describing where it had come from and how it had been found. To me, they all looked pretty much identical. Each one looked like a lump of dirt. I couldn't see what were supposed to learn from all these various lumps of dirt, but Morgana didn't see to find anything unusual. It was impressive to watch Morgana at work, she really did know her stuff. She went to the corner of the nearest table and began looking over the various earth clods.

"Merlin, fetch a large bucket, won't you? Dan, unless I'm mistaken, you'll find index cards and brush kits in that knapsack." Without looking, she pointed at a knapsack I hadn't noticed hanging in the corner of the tent. "Get a brush kit for each of us and a stack of index cards, please." Connor directed me another tent where I could get the requested buckets. When I returned, bucket in hand, Morgana told me to put it at the foot of the table. She donned a pair of gloves and picked up one of the lumps of dirt, looked at it for a second, and then carelessly tossed it into the bucket. "Pebble," she declared. She began moving down the table, tossing most of the "artefacts" into the bucket without even examining them first. She muttered to herself as she worked. "Rock. Rock. Nothing. Another pebble. Rock."

Connor sighed. "That's the trouble with using students. They save every dirt clod which doesn't instantly disintegrate."

Without stopping, Morgana replied, "I'd rather they save dirt clods than accidentally throw out something valuable."

Connor nodded, "Of course."

Suddenly Morgana stopped. She held up one of the dirt clods that looked, to me, exactly like all the others. "Merlin, see if you can get some of the dirt off of this one." I put on my own gloves and set about carefully brushing the dirt away from the small lump. Morgana had, fortunately, thought to give Dan and me a crash course in basic procedure before we came so we could pass as archaeology students.

"Well," Connor said, "You seem to have things under control here, so I'll return to my own work. If you need anything, you know where to find me." Morgana thanked him and continued working. Before long, she called Dan over and asked him to start cleaning up another of the lumps.

Dan and I used tiny strokes with tiny brushes removing a few grains of earth at a time. I watched Morgana continuing down the tables, leaving only a few of the artefacts for further study. "Aren't you worried about throwing out something valuable?" I asked.

"Not really." Morgana tossed another artefact into the bucket. "All of these will be x-rayed and run through metal detectors before we get rid of them."

Dan looked up from his work. "Why don't you do that before sorting them? Surely that would save some time."

Morgana picked up one of the lumps from the table and handed it to Dan. "What do you think about that?" she asked.

Dan studied the lump, turning it around and examining it from all angles. Finally he shrugged and handed it back to Morgana. "I don't know. I think it's a lump of dirt."

Morgana eyed the piece of dirt. "I think that it has an odd shape, like the dirt is packed around something." She held the lump in her hand testing the heft of it. "I also think it's lighter than a lump of wet earth ought to be." She took a small blade out of one of the brush kits and began scraping dirt away from an edge. Before long she held it out for us to see. Clearly visible beneath the dirt was a shard of clay pottery, maybe a piece of a roof tile. "Do you know what baked clay looks like on an x-ray of a piece of earth?" We both shook our heads. "Absolutely nothing. It's virtually indistinguishable from the earth in which it's buried. And it certainly won't ping on a metal detector.

"That's why we rely more on experienced human eyes and hands than technology. The scans won't pick up anything but dirt in the pieces I'm tossing out, I promise you that. Merlin, have you found metal yet in the piece I gave you?"

I studied the lump of earth and saw that there was, in fact, a small, rounded, edge of metal beginning to appear. It glistened in a way that suggested gold. "Oh…" I was surprised I hadn't noticed earlier. "um, yes, there is."

"I thought so," Morgana nodded. "Unless I miss my guess, you've got a coin there. And I think Dan's working on a small piece of smithied iron—maybe a piece from a horse's bridle or a door latch—something like that."

We talked as we worked. Morgana explained much of what we hadn't understood from Connor's earlier tour. I think she did it as much because she enjoyed teaching as to bring us up to speed. I was glad of the work to take our minds off of the strange flashback we'd experienced during the tour. The work made the day pass quickly. Before I knew it, it was time to clean up and head back to Cabislayne for the night.

We'd barely closed the car doors before Dan said what was on all our minds. "Okay, so what was that weird…vision this morning?"

I looked at Morgana. She started the motor and pulled onto the road before she replied, "I was hoping Merlin might be able to shed some light on that."

"Oh, dear," I grimaced, "I had hoped that you might do the same for us."

Morgana's eyebrows raised. "Me?"

"You are a seer," I pointed out. "Dreams and visions are more your thing than mine."

"Dreams, perhaps," she replied. "Dreams of the future. Not waking visions of the past. I've never experienced anything like this before."

"That's unfortunate," I said. "It's new to me, too."

"The more I think about, I really don't believe it was a vision at all," Morgana admitted. "Magical visions are never so clear. They're usually so obscure, vague, and disjointed that you hardly know what they mean until after the predicted events have already passed."

"That's true," I admitted, "And I've never had a vision that overlapped with reality like that."

"Yes," Morgana agreed, "I could still see Doctor Moore standing right beside me and hear him talking."

"Well, it's got to have something to do with the castle, right?" asked Dan. "I mean, it can't be a coincidence that we had a flashback of Camelot's past while we were standing on top of the castle."

"Gaius would argue that correlation is not causation," I replied, "but I agree. It's an awfully big coincidence otherwise. Knowing what it was would go a long way toward figuring out why it happened."

"That raises a good point," said Morgana. "I don't understand how you could even see it, Dan. Merlin and I are sensitive to…" she searched for the right word.

"Magical phenomena?" Dan suggested.

"Sure. No one else noticed anything amiss, though. How is it that you were able to see the flashback, too?"

"I sure don't know," Dan replied. "Your guess is as good as mine. Probably better. Maybe it's because Dad's been teaching me magic."

"WHAT!" Morgana stared at Dan in the rear-view mirror with a shocked look. Dan stared back, surprised at her tone. Morgana recovered her poise a second later. "Sorry, that was sharper than I intended. It was just so unexpected. You're really learning magic?"

Dan looked sheepish. "Not so much. Dad's been trying to teach me, but I haven't managed to do much more than break a few teacups."

"Remarkable," Morgana murmured. "That _could_ explain why you were able to see it."

It made perfect sense to me; I didn't understand why Morgana was so reluctant to accept it. "Whatever the reason may be," I said, "I think it's clear that we need to know more about this before we try and do anything. I've learned the hard way that it's dangerous to act before you have all the facts."

Morgana nodded her agreement. "Magic usually has a way of explaining itself, if you give it time."

"So we do nothing?" Dan did not appear satisfied.

"Just for now," I replied.

Morgana added, "Until we know more."

"What are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Dan asked.

Morgana grinned. "In case you didn't notice, Doctor Moore has lots of work. I suspect we'll be too busy to worry about much else."

\- x - x - x - x - x -

That weekend happened to be little Jen's seventh birthday. Tom had caught up with Dan and me one morning while we were breakfasting at Mort's. After making the usual small talk, he had awkwardly brought up Jen's birthday party. "She, um, insists that 'Mr. Merlin' and 'Mr. Dan' have to be in attendance." He gave a little nervous laugh, "I think she's a bit taken with you two."

"Dan often has that effect on women," I teased.

"Oh yeah," Dan joked, "You wouldn't believe how often I kick Merlin out of the house so I can spend the evening with a seven-year-old." He winced. "That sounded a lot less creepy in my head."

I smacked Dan on the back of the head. "How could that possibly sound anything but creepy?"

Tom laughed at the pair of us. "Good grief," he shook his head. "Can I count on you at the party? You won't be the only adults there, just in case you're wondering. Most of the kids' parents will be there, and Lady Fanny's coming, too."

"Of course we'll be there, Tom," I assured him. "We wouldn't miss it."

Jen's party was at lunchtime on the following Saturday in one of Cabislayne's large, grassy parks. The adults mostly clustered around the refreshment tables while the children played around the park. Periodically one of the parents would rush out amongst the children to corral a misbehaving youngster or kiss a scraped knee. Dan was out in the meadow playing alongside the kids. Before going out to play, Jen had entrusted me with the most important of tasks: Guarding the gifts.

She took my hand and led me to a picnic table which held a number of gifts neatly stacked on top of it. "These are mine," she spoke with an amusing seriousness. I kept my smile in check, though, so she wouldn't think I was teasing her. "I can't open them until after cake," she told me, "You have to sit there," she pointed to a spot on the attached bench, "and keep them safe." I took my appointed seat and sent her out to play with the rest of the children.

Shortly Tom drifted over to the table. "So you're the one Jen's roped into gift-guarding. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," I laughed, "she was quite adorable."

"She's a bit paranoid after last year," Tom explained. "There was a mishap with the park sprinklers and the gifts got drenched."

"Oh, no! That must have made for a bad birthday."

"Eh," Tom shrugged, "no real damage was done, and you know how they are at that age. Tragedies only last a few minutes, before something more interesting comes along and diverts their attention."

"Tom! Merlin!" My mother—Helen, I should say—broke away from a nearby group of mothers and greeted us with what I was coming to recognize as her trademark ebullience. She came over to join us at the table. "Benjamin and I thought we'd just drop by and give Jennifer our good wishes. And a gift, of course." She added a gift-wrapped package overflowing with colourful ribbons to the rest of the gifts on the table. "So, tell me, how old is Jennifer now?"

"Seven years yesterday," Tom said with that same unmistakable pride that seems to be common to all fathers of young girls.

"Look," Helen pointed out to the meadow, "isn't it sweet?" Two of the children had broken away from the rest of the group. I could see that one of them was Jen, and the other was a dark-haired boy, roughly the same age as Jen, who I didn't recognize. The boy shyly handed Jen a flower he had picked from the meadow; Jen took the flower and put it in her hair. Elaine explained, for my benefit, "That's Elaine's boy, Lance, there with Jen."

"He's quite the charmer," I said. Then the penny dropped, and I had to make a conscious effort to check my reaction. Lance and Jennifer…Lancelot and Guinevere…I should've known that one was coming.

Tom chuckled. "Lance should watch himself," he said dryly, "I happen to know Jen has every intention of trying to steal a kiss from him today."

"From what Elaine's told me," my mother remarked, "I'm not sure he'd try to stop her. Aren't children fun?" At that remark, she stopped and tilted her head slightly, as though she had just realized something. "What about you, Merlin?" she asked. "Do you think you might want children someday?"

I had to smile at that. My mother, of course, had no idea about Dan. "Yes," I nodded, "I think I would. Someday."

"Someday comes and goes faster than you realize," she said with a wistful air. It occurred to me to wonder whether or not she and Benjamin were childless by choice. It seemed tactless to pry, though. "You know," Helen continued, back to her normal vivacious self, "there are plenty of young women here in Cabislayne who wouldn't say no to a handsome young fellow like yourself."

"I…um…" I couldn't stop a slightly embarrassed smile from spreading across my face. "That's very kind, but, really—"

"Oh, don't say no out of hand," my mother chided. "You should at least get to know some of the girls first." Someone waved at my mother and, with that, she swept away from us to join another conversation.

"That was unexpected," I said.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Really? Merlin, my friend, I'm afraid you and Dan are fresh catches in a very small pond of fish. You could be quite popular with the local ladies if you wanted." He looked down into his glass of lemonade. "But you're, um," he spoke in a low voice, "you don't—gosh, what's the polite term these days—you're 'not a fan of the ladies,' are you?"

"It's generally okay to just say gay," I told him.

"So you and Dan…?"

I nearly choked on my lemonade. "Oh, god, no! No, Tom, Dan really is family—and straight, for that matter; that's the truth."

"Can't blame a fellow for wondering," he said. "You know, we're not as backward as all that in Cabislayne; there's no need to hide who you are. I think you'll find everyone here is pretty accepting."

"I'm sure that's true," I said, "it's just that old habits die hard. It wasn't that way where I grew up."

Tom seemed to understand. Before he could reply, though, the conversation was cut short by the arrival of Fanny and Morgana. The number of gifts on the table increased by one and hellos were exchanged all around. One of the children in the meadow must have noticed their arrival as well because Fanny was shortly surrounded by children of all ages. While Morgana sat down with Tom and I, Fanny greeted each of them by name, asked after their pets (whom she also knew by name), and distributed sweets from a seemingly limitless supply in her purse.

"There's nothing like children to make one feel young again," she said matter-of-factly as she finally joined us at the table.

"Really?" Morgana arched an imperious eyebrow. "I've always found children to have the exact opposite effect."

"Rubbish," Fanny declared with quick shake of her head, "and piffle, too. Look at Dan," she waved a hand in Dan's direction, out in the park where he was playing with a number of the children, "he understands what I mean."

"So why aren't you out there with him?" Morgana asked with a teasing smile.

"_I_ may feel young," Fanny replied airily, "but my knees don't."

"Speaking of Dan," I said, "what, exactly, is he doing?" Dan was on all fours growling and menacing a group of boys carrying sticks like they were swords. Dan stalked around the base of a large rock, and Jen stood on top of the rock.

"Oh, that's darling," Fanny exclaimed, "I believe they're rescuing the princess from the tower."

"And slaying the horrid beast guarding her, I think," I added. "I hope they don't get too enthusiastic about the slaying."

"I'm sure Dan can keep himself out of harm's way," Tom said. Even as he spoke, Jen, tired of waiting for her would-be-rescuers, leapt off the "tower" and landed across Dan's shoulders. Dan took a very convincing tumble, at the same time skilfully managing to avoid hurting Jen in the fall. The knights cheered, Jen bowed, and Dan stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth to show that he was dead.

Tom laughed and went out to collect his daughter. "I think such a brave princess deserves cake, don't you?" Jen happily agreed, so everyone regrouped in the picnic area where Fanny cut and distributed the cake. All in all, a thoroughly good time was had by all. Before we left, I thanked Jen for inviting us, and she told me that I had done a very good job guarding the presents.

Fanny invited Dan and I back to the house on the hill for tea, an invitation we gladly accepted. We settled into Fanny's drawing room, helping ourselves to a tray laden with cakes and sweet delectables. "How do you do it, Morgana?" I asked.

She looked up quizzically from her teacup. "Do what?"

"How do you cope with being around these people?" I was more frustrated than I had realized, and it showed in my tone of voice. Having already said it, though, it was too late to take it back now. "How do you spend all your time with old friends who are now total strangers?"

Fanny and Dan watched silently as Morgana considered. "It's not always easy," she conceded. "Maybe it's a bit easier for me because I'm as much Morgan as I am Morgana. I may have a lifetime of ancient memories, but I have a lifetime of modern memories, too. I was born to this time, even if my soul wasn't."

"I know I'm being ridiculous," I said, "but sometimes I want to be angry with them for not being the people I used to know. And then I get angry with myself for being so silly."

"It's just the opposite for me," Morgana told me. "I don't understand what's drawing the souls of Camelot to this place. I guess that's not quite true," she corrected herself, "not now that Camelot's been uncovered. But I don't know why it works or how. I still sometimes wake up in the middle of the night terrified that they'll suddenly remember who they were…and who I was. Sometimes I can hardly go out in public for fear of it."

"And what do you do on those days?"

"I remind myself that Cabislayne is as wonderful as it is terrifying. You haven't been here long enough to see more than a glimpse of it, Merlin, but it's like everyone has been given a second chance at their fairy tale ending. Uther and Ygraine, your parents, even Gwen and Lancelot: Here in Cabislayne, they all have a chance for the happiness that was denied them in Camelot. Luther and Ingrid are devoted to each other, and I've met very few couples more in love than Helen and Benjamin."

"It was awfully sweet watching Jen and Lance today," I admitted.

"Wait until you've spent more time here," Morgana assured me. "There's always a wonderful new surprise waiting just around the corner."

While Dan and I were walking back to our flat that evening, I kept thinking over what Morgana had said and what my mother had said earlier about settling down in Cabislayne. I didn't worry for myself, of course. I was perfectly content with my situation, but what about Dan? I had come to take Dan's presence at my side as a given, but mightn't he want to settle down someday? Did he want children of his own? Dan had never had a really serious relationship. During our travels, Dan had had more than a few dalliances with women. But, although his affairs always burned hot and bright, they never burned for very long. Guiltily, I wondered if staying with me was keeping Dan from a more fulfilling, long-term relationship. Was I preventing my son from falling in love?

"Dan?" He looked up at me. "Do you want a family?"

"What do you mean?" he asked. "You're my family."

"I mean settling down," I said. "Do you ever want children of your own?"

"Eh," Dan shrugged, "Kids wouldn't really fit into our life, would they? We're always travelling from place to place. Kids need stability, right? Not to mention it can get a little dangerous."

"You don't have to stay with me," I told him. "You know that right? If you ever wanted to stay someplace, Cabislayne, for instance, I'd understand."

"You're being silly," he chided me. "How could I leave you alone? You can't even set a clock radio."

"I could learn," I protested. "And that's not the point."

"I'm happy," Dan insisted. "I wouldn't change anything." He glanced around the street to make sure there weren't any gossiping neighbours overhearing us. "Honestly, Dad, you're worrying over nothing."

I put my arm around my son's shoulders. "Whatever did I do to deserve a son like you?"

With a teasing grin, Dan replied, "You rescued me from a volcano, remember?"


	11. Fifth Interlude

**Interlude – January 1977**

"Good, Connor! Very good," Merlin circled around the outside of a small group of ten young men and women. They were standing in a loose circle in the cave that served as Merlin's library and holding their hands out flat, palm up. Several of the young people had small flames dancing in the air above their hands. Connor had just managed to ignite a flame over his hand. He looked proudly at the flame flickering and flaring in his hand.

"Careful, Bryan," Merlin cautioned another young man. "Concentrate or you'll lose control of it. At best, it will go out. At worst, I'll be sending you to the infirmary to have the healers salve your burns." Bryan had been talking to the girl standing next to him, and the flame in his hand was beginning to throw sparks and flicker wildly. He furrowed his brow in concentration and the flame calmed itself.

Merlin continued around the outside of the circle. When he came to Brand, he stopped and watched. As usual, Brand had been the first of Merlin's students to master the new spell and produce a flame. While waiting for the rest of the group to catch up, Brand had started to play with the spell. Brand's flame was burning with a vivid blue hue; he held the flame between his hands and drew his hands apart. The blue fire began to grow and split until it looked like a small burning tree. With a wave of Brand's hands, the tree blossomed out with fiery yellow flowers. Merlin laid a hand gently on Brand's arm, "Well done, Brand." The flaming tree burned a bit more intensely at the compliment.

Soon everyone had managed to produce a flame. Some had even tried some creative manipulation, but no one had managed anything like Brand's work. "Good job, everybody," Merlin said. "Now, find the energy flowing through you; feel it, and focus on closing it, sealing it away." One by one the flames winked out. "Good," Merlin said again. "That's all for today." He held up an admonishing finger, "A word of caution before you leave: If you decide to practice this on your own, I suggest doing so in an area free of flammable material, yes?" This got a few laughs as the group broke up and made its way out of the library.

Merlin caught Brand's arm before he left. "Care to stay for lunch?"

"I'd love to, but I can't," Brand replied. "I promised I'd watch my aunt's youngest this afternoon. Raincheck?"

"Of course," Merlin patted him on the shoulder, "Have fun with the kid." Merlin watched Brand leave. He was about to leave himself when he noticed that not all of his students had departed. "Connor!" Merlin was surprised to see Brand's brother still in the library.

Connor had never really warmed up to Merlin. It was probably only because Falco accepted Merlin that Connor would speak to him at all. Connor had made it very clear that he didn't approve of an 'outsider' living with the clan, and, though he never said anything out loud, he managed to convey a distinct disapproval of Merlin's friendship with Brand. After Merlin agreed to begin teaching some of the druids about magic, Connor's attitude thawed somewhat, but he still wasn't exactly friendly. It was a bit of a shock for Connor go out of his way to see Merlin. Merlin wasn't sure whether to be intrigued or worried.

"Emrys," Connor gave him a curt nod.

"What can I do for you?"

"He's quite talented, isn't he?"

Merlin didn't need to ask to know that Connor was talking about Brand. "Extremely talented," he agreed.

Connor shook his head. "It's such a waste."

"What?" Merlin stared at Connor in shock. "A waste?"

"All that talent's going to die with him someday. However talented he is, he'll never pass that talent on to the next generation because he won't take a wife. The bloodline dies with him."

"What about you?" inquired Merlin testily. "You have a wife. You and Brand share the same bloodline. The bloodline will continue in your offspring."

Connor scoffed. "He's the one with all the talent; we both know that."

Merlin shot back, "So?" He folded his arms. "Genetics are unpredictable. Traits can skip generations; your children could be even more exceptional than Brand."

The expression on Connor's face was so pained, Merlin was afraid Connor was going to be physically ill. "No, they won't," he finally said, each word sounded like it was being pulled out of him by force. "I…we can't have children."

"Oh," Merlin wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Melinda, my wife, she was hurt very badly in a childhood accident. She survived, barely, but she cannot have children. Brand is going to be the best sorcerer the clan has seen in generations, even Grandfather sees it. We need men like him if our way of life is to endure. Our bloodline must not end with him. You could persuade him. You could convince him to take a wife."

"No," Merlin said flatly, "I wouldn't."

"Yes, you could! I know how much he likes you," Connor insisted. "Brand respects you; I know he would listen to you."

"Possibly," Merlin admitted, "but you misunderstand me. Even if I agreed with you, I would never try and talk Connor into being someone other than himself. Trust me, Connor," Merlin's voice took on a note of desperation, "I wasn't much older than Brand when the man I loved married someone else because it was what people expected of him. His wife was our closest friend, she accepted us and only married him to protect us, and it was still the hardest thing he and I ever endured. To this day, I still…" Merlin shook his head. "I wouldn't, I couldn't force that on anyone."

Merlin held up his hands. A tongue of fire appeared in the air between his hands. Water condensed out of the air and came together in a wobbling sphere next to the fire. Dirt drifted up from the floor of the cavern and collected into a lump of earth by the water. Above all three, a tiny windstorm swirled the air. "Earth, air, fire, and water," Merlin listed out the elements, "each in its own right a force of astonishing power. Yet we can manipulate these elements, bend them to our will, force them into the shape we command." As he spoke, each of the elements morphed and twisted like clay under an artist's hands.

"Love is a force unlike any of these." Merlin put his hands down and the elements vanished, falling to the floor or dissolving into the air. "We can't control it, we can't force it not to be, and we certainly can't make it take another shape if we don't like the one it's got."

Connor sat down heavily in one of the library chairs. "Melinda and I knew we couldn't have children before we were married," he admitted. I convinced myself that it didn't matter if I had children, because the family would still continue through Brand."

"Why does it matter so much at all?" asked Merlin, sitting down in a chair next to Brand's. "Why is it so important to continue your family line?"

"Not just ours," Connor told him, "everyone's. Each year more of us die and fewer of us are born. Soon there will be no one left at all; thousands of years of history and tradition will just disappear."

"Take it from someone who's seen a lot of history, Connor: Nothing lasts forever." Connor seemed to consider Merlin's words. "Isn't death at the very heart of the cycle of nature?"

"This from the man who doesn't die," noted Connor with wry humour.

"Without death, there wouldn't be room for new life. If we never let go of old things to try new ones, we'd all still be living in caves spending our spare time picking nits out of each other's hair."

Connor looked around the library. "Emrys, we _are_ living in caves."

"Why, so we are. Do you want to start the picking of nits or shall I?"

"I'll pass, thanks," Connor leaned back in his chair, "but you make a good point all the same." He sighed and put his head in his hands. "In my heart, I know you're right. It's hard to convince my head, though."

Merlin steepled his fingers and thought a moment before he said, "May I offer some advice?" Connor lifted his head, waiting for Merlin to finish. "I'm curious, why did you marry Melinda if having children was so important to you?"

"I couldn't help myself," Connor explained. "I loved her so much that I couldn't give her up."

"Loved? Past tense?" Merlin prompted.

For the first time since Merlin had known him, Connor's face was transformed by a real smile. "No. Love, present tense," he corrected. "Every day a little bit more."

"Hold on to that feeling, Connor." Merlin gently tapped his finger on Connor's temple. "Remind your head that Brand deserves that same happiness."

"I'll try to remember that." Connor stood up from his chair, but made no move to leave. "Um, Emrys, I hate to ask, but I'll never forgive myself if I don't."

Merlin, still seated, raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Melinda's condition," began Connor, "Is there anything you could do to, um, help?"

"No," Merlin replied quickly, "No, that wouldn't be a good idea."

Connor's face fell. "I see."

"It's not that I don't want to help," Merlin explained, "it's just that even magic can't create a human life from nothing. It takes a life to make a life; that's how Arthur's mother died, you know. Arthur's birth was the result of magic, and his mother's life was the price."

"Oh," Connor looked a bit mollified, "I see."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said.

"I understand." Before he left, there was one more thing Connor had to say. "Emrys, I'm sorry I tried to shoot you. When we first met."

Merlin looked amused. "It's odd, but think I'm glad you tried to shoot me."

Connor pulled a face, "Glad?"

"What if you hadn't shot me? What if you hadn't needed to go back to get help for Brand? The two of you might have gone back and told Falco that someone else was living here and the clan would need to find somewhere else to camp." Merlin shrugged. "But you shot me. Well," he added with a cheeky grin, "you tried to."

Connor grinned back. "Put it like that, I guess I'm glad I shot you, too."

Merlin held up a finger. "Tried to."

"Right," Connor laughed. "Tried to."


	12. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 – Present Day**

The next week we were all going to be working separately at the dig site. Doctor Moore had requested Morgana's help to review the ground-penetration radar results and plan the course of the project. Dan and I would be working with different groups of students on the excavation itself, carefully digging out two of Camelot's tallest towers. I was working with two other grad students in one of the dug out pits.

My first companion introduced herself as Naomi, working on her PhD and helping out here for the experience. "So what's so special about you, then, to get The Lady to take you on as a student?"

"You mean Lady Fay?"

"'Course I do, who else?"

"Oh," I shrugged. "She's an old friend of the family."

"Knew it," she said with a smug air. "The Lady hasn't taken any new students in years. And not for want of people asking, neither. We all thought she'd retired. I knew you had to have some sort of in with her."

Given her attitude, I had a feeling that Naomi was one of the people who'd asked for Morgana's tutelage and been turned down. "Why do you call her 'The Lady'?" I asked.

One of the other students, a young fellow in his first year of grad school named John, answered my question. "Like the Lady of the Lake, yeah? If anyone's got Arthur hidden away sleeping somewhere, it's got to be her. She knows more about the Arthur legend than anyone you'll ever meet. It's a bit scary, to be honest."

"You've met her?" I asked.

"Cor, no!" he laughed. "I've just seen her speak."

"Who hasn't?" shot back Naomi.

I hefted a basket of the soil we'd cleared away onto my shoulder. The basket was full and needed to be taken to the sifters. Straps held it firmly in place on my shoulder, but it was still a bit awkward climbing the ladder out of the pit with the heavy weight throwing off my centre of gravity. I was near the top of the ladder when my stomach turned, and I felt like I was going to vomit. I let go of the ladder to grip my stomach.

It's funny how much information the brain can run through in a single moment. In the instant that it took for me to start falling off the ladder, I thought that I must be getting heat stroke or something until I realized that my vision was also beginning to swim. As I fell backward to the ground, I saw the castle of Camelot standing tall above me and realized I was having another flashback vision. Then I hit the ground and everything went black.

A sharp stinging roused me back to consciousness. It took a moment for me to realize that the stinging was coming from my cheeks. Another sharp slap to my cheek was enough to get my eyes open. I squinted at the light shining down into the hole. All I could see above me was blue sky, no ancient castle, so I must have been back in the present.

John caught Naomi's arm before she slapped me again. "I think that's enough slapping, yeah? Look, he's coming around." I finally managed to get my eyes to focus on the two faces floating above mine.

"Good grief," I moaned, "what happened?"

John pointed up at the ladder out of the hole. "You were almost out when you just fell off the ladder, mate. What happened? Heat stroke?"

"Probably, yeah, something like that." I tried to sit up and pain spiralled up my left arm when I leaned on it. "Ah!"

Naomi helped me sit up and gently felt my arm. "I've only been trained on basic First Aid," she told me, "but I don't think it's broken. Sprained pretty badly, though, I'd say." She waved John to my other side. "Here, take John's shoulder; see if you can't get on your feet. We'd best get you to the medic just to be sure it's not broken."

With their help I did manage to stand, and, fortunately, it appeared that my arm was the only serious injury from my fall. Without the weight on my back, I didn't have too much trouble climbing up the ladder, even though it was awkward doing it one-handed. I told them I could get to the med tent on my own, but Naomi and John insisted on going with me to make sure I got there in one piece. The medic, a sturdy, middle-aged, no-nonsense type of woman, was just putting a splint on my arm when Morgana raced into the tent.

"Merlin!" she rushed to my side. "Are you alright? I just heard about the accident. What happened?"

"I was climbing up to the ground when I got really dizzy," I gave Morgana a meaningful look, "and nauseous."

"We thought he might have heat stroke," put in John, helpfully.

Morgana nodded. "I see. Yes, I felt a bit of that myself earlier." Morgana had experienced a flashback as well, then. I wondered if it had happened at the same time as mine.

"Nonsense," the medic grunted. "Not heat stroke, just dehydrated. Working too hard without drinking enough water."

"I'm fine," I assured Morgana. The medic stopped wrapping the splint to give me a sardonic glare. "Not fine?" I asked. She shook her head.

"He'll be alright, though?" asked Morgana.

"Oh, aye," replied the medic, "it's a bad sprain, but it's only a sprain. It ought to heal right as rain in a week or two." She finished wrapping the splint and stood up to give Morgana an appraising look. Morgana must have passed muster because the medic addressed her next comments to Morgana instead of me. "I strongly suggest he take some rest for at least a week, maybe two. I think you can make sure that happens."

I started to protest. "But I—"

Morgana held up an elegant finger, cutting me short, and, in her most royal tone, commanded, "Rest."

The medic smiled at Morgana. "Aye, you'll do."

Morgana didn't take her responsibility to ensure my rest lightly. Between her and Dan and Fanny, I was lucky they didn't insist I stay in bed for an entire month. "This is ridiculous," I protested, "I can just heal this and be done with it."

"And then you would have to explain how your sprained arm miraculously healed itself," Morgana pointed out. "What would you tell people?"

"I ought to just tell them it was magic and let them try to figure out what happened," I grumbled. But Morgana had a point. Too many people, including a medical professional, had seen the injury. It wouldn't do for it to simply disappear tomorrow. I reluctantly agreed to stay home from the dig for a week, so I didn't aggravate my sprain. Unfortunately, that meant spending a lot of time in Cabislayne with nothing to do. Fanny came by several times each day to see how I was doing (and, I suspect, to make sure I was minding doctor's orders), but she had such a busy social calendar that she couldn't spend too much time sitting at home with me.

Seeing no reason I shouldn't make the best of the good weather, to occupy myself, I began taking long walks around the village in the afternoons. On one such walk, my arm was hurting more than usual, so I decided to walk out to the edge of town to get something for the pain from the pharmacy.

When I walked into the shop, Jason was working at his bench behind the counter, carefully adding a few grains of powder to a liquid in a test tube. He swirled the tube and watched through a pair of goggles with magnifying lenses as the liquid turned from clear to blue. With a nod of satisfaction he set the tube into a rack of tubes full of various coloured solutions. He reached for an empty tube from another nearby rack. Without turning around, he spoke, "Are you going to stand there watching all day or do you plan to tell me what you want?"

"Oh, um, hello," I stammered. "It's my arm," I held up my splinted arm even though Jason wasn't looking at me, "I sprained it, and I hoped to get something for the pain."

"If you're looking for painkillers," Jason said, a bit testily, "you'd best have a prescription."

"Actually," I said, matching his annoyed tone, "I had hoped you would have some oil of arnica, since I noticed a large patch of Mountain Tobacco outside in your garden."

Jason stopped what he was doing and turned around to look at me. The magnifying goggles made his eyes look comically large. His eyebrows rose over the goggles. "Mountain Tobacco?"

"Let's see," I closed my eyes and recited, "Fuzzy green leaves, long stalk, yellow flower about yea big," I held up the thumb and forefinger of my good hand roughly two inches apart, "that looks like a cross between a sunflower and a zinnia? Officially designated _Arnica montana_, commonly known as Mountain Tobacco. A topical application of oil extracted from the leaves can help soothe inflammatory pain, but it's poisonous in high doses."

He looked impressed, but suspicious. He pulled the magnifying goggles off his head, leaving his white hair frizzled around his head like some strange kind of halo. "What does a young lad like you know about herbal medicine?"

"Just what…" I stopped myself before I said, 'Just what you've taught me.' "Just what I've read in books," I said.

"Hmph," he grunted, "useful habit, reading. Going out of fashion these days."

"Some of us still enjoy it."

Jason rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "I suppose I might have some oil of arnica on hand. If you have time to wait, I can make a cream that ought to help your arm."

"Time I have in plenty," I answered.

"Good. I'll just fetch some supplies." He started to head upstairs but had a thought and turned back. "You'll want to make sure you're getting good circulation, too." He pointed to a room off the side of the shop. "Fetch the turmeric from the stock room while I'm gone."

"And the ascorbic acid as well?" I asked.

"Yes," this time I could see that I really had impressed him. He started to say something but changed his mind and went upstairs. I found large, sealed jars of powdered turmeric and ascorbic acid (more commonly known as vitamin C) in the stock room and brought them out to the counter. Jason returned from his apartments with several bottles that had essential oils sloshing about inside of them. He began retrieving tools from various shelves and setting up a workstation on the back bench. "Come around here," he motioned to the end of the counter. "Make yourself useful."

He measured the turmeric and vitamin C powders into a bowl in careful proportions. "Here," he pushed the bowl in my direction and handed me a tool that looked like a kitchen whisk except that it was barely larger than a regular pencil, "mix those well." Jason began preparing the cream and said, "Really, now, it's not terribly common knowledge that ascorbic acid helps maintain circulatory health or that oil of arnica can treat inflammation. You've studied medicine?"

"I've never officially studied it," I admitted, "not in college or anything like that, but my uncle used to have a shop very much like this one before he passed. He taught me everything he knew about medicine and folk cures."

"Hmm," Jason made an approving grunt. "There's a lot of useful information in the old folk cures." He stirred oil into a beaker of creamy liquid. "And a lot of rubbish, too," he laughed. "The trick is figuring out what's what."

"I think these are ready," I showed him the bowl of powders. "Where are your gelatine capsules?"

Jason handed me a tiny scoop and pointed to a scale on the counter. "Let's see what one thousand milligrams looks like." I carefully measured one thousand milligrams of powder into the scale's weighing surface. "Let's see," Jason studied the pile on the scale and reached under the counter to retrieve a jar of empty capsules that were just the right size. "Taking all that in one dose would be quite a swallow. Try these; fill them with five hundred milligrams each. You should have enough there to make sixty capsules."

We worked in silence for a while before Jason spoke up again. "So how did you and your cousin convince Lady Morgan to take you on as students? Everyone in town thought she'd retired."

I glanced at him. "That's the second time someone has asked me that question," I said.

Jason laughed. "I guess we're all a bit nervous she might decide to leave. The village likes to think of Morgan and Fanny as patrons of the town. A lot of folks would be disappointed if Morgan left for the big city; they've been after her to start teaching again, you know. But you didn't answer my question."

Jason was as shrewd as Gaius ever was; it was hard to slip something past him unnoticed. "Our families go way back. Dan and I hoped to get some experience, so we paid a call to our old friend." It wasn't really a lie…not totally. "I hadn't realized Lady Morgan was so well-known," I added.

Jason lifted a bushy white eyebrow. "Not a close friend, then."

"We've been out of touch," I explained, "for…a while."

"Not a falling out, I hope," Jason replied. "When you start getting to my age, you realize just how important your friends and family truly are. It's not worth it to break a friendship over little tiffs and arguments."

"No, nothing like that," I told him. "It's just that Dan and I have been in America for—" I stopped short, realizing that I could hardly tell Jason we'd been in America since 1980, when I was only supposed to be in my late twenties. "—for a number of years," I finished. "We lost contact while we were away."

"Then it's good that you found each other again," Jason declared.

"I think so, too."

"And here," Jason spooned a smooth lotion from a beaker into a small jar, "is a topical preparation of oil of arnica and ginger extract, with just a touch of cayenne." He screwed a lid onto the jar and handed it to me. "Apply a dime-size amount directly to your arm as needed to ease pain and inflammation." He handed me another small bottle for the capsules I had prepared. "And take two of those each morning. If the arm's still giving you trouble when you run out of the capsules, then you ought to have a doctor take a look at it."

I paid Jason for the treatments and made to leave when Jason said, "Merlin?" I turned back to the counter. "If you ever get bored, I'd welcome your help here any time."

I smiled and replied, "I'd enjoy that very much."


	13. Sixth Interlude

**Interlude – June 1977**

"_Cuddio mi yn y cysgod._"

Brand flattened himself against a tree and did his best to stand absolutely still as the shadows drew around him and concealed him. He closed his eyes, calmed his heart, and slowed his breathing. _You are a part of the forest_, he told himself. _Fade into the background; become part of the scenery_. He opened his eyes when he heard footsteps approaching. They were quiet, stealthy, but not stealthy enough.

Two men walked past the tree where he hid. _Don't hold your breath,_ Brand could almost hear Merlin's words from their lessons. _You can't hold your breath forever, and it will only give you away when you finally gasp for air._ The men looked around, hunting for Brand. When they looked toward the tree, he was able to see their faces: Connor and Bryan. _Not today, big brother_, thought Brand.

Connor and Bryan continued on through the woods, unaware of Brand's presence. Brand allowed himself a small smile of triumph. Focusing on being as invisible as possible, Brand lost all track of time. Connor and Bryan passed by the tree several more times, but they never managed to detect him. The sun was nearly directly overhead when a call finally sounded from further in the woods. The hunters had given up and abandoned their quarry. As Brand prepared to release the spell of concealment, he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

"Looks like your record remains unbroken," said a voice so close to his ear that Brand felt the breath stir the hair on the side of his head.

"Gah!" Brand jumped, shattering the illusion of concealment. He whirled around and looked behind himself. He stared until his eyes hurt, and still he could see nothing out of the ordinary. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, "How long have you been there?"

A pair of eyes lit up with golden light and faded to deep blue. As the light vanished from the eyes, Merlin slowly emerged from the shadows. "Long enough to be very impressed," Merlin answered. "Let's get back to the others."

Brand fell into step by Merlin's side. They found the rest of Merlin's students waiting near the cave entrance. When they spotted Merlin and Brand a clamour rose from the group. Bryan came up and clapped Brand on the back. "Brand, where were you? Connor and I searched all morning without finding a trace."

Connor looked proudly at his younger brother. "That makes, what, ten times undefeated?"

"Just seven times," Brand said with a grin.

"Would you listen to him," Bryan ruffled Brand's hair, "'just' seven."

Merlin held up a hand, silencing the chatter. "Remember, it's not enough to simply cast the concealment spell. You must have perfect control over your body until you're ready to drop the spell. Even small actions can shatter the illusion." He glanced up at the sun then back at his students. "We'll go over this again next time."

The students dispersed back into the druid's caves. Brand was headed down to Merlin's library when Bryan caught his arm. "Brand, seriously, how do you do that?"

"Well, it's like Emrys says, you have to focus on being absolutely still. Here, I'll show you." He took Bryan's hand and held flat against his chest. "It's all about your heartbeat." Brand closed his eyes and began taking regular deep breaths; he tried to empty his mind and block out distraction. His heart began to beat slower and slower.

"Wow," Bryan breathed. "That's incredible."

Brand opened his eyes and let go of Bryan's hand. "You try," Brand told him.

Bryan protested, "I don't even know how to start."

"No, no, I'll help you," insisted Brand. "Stand comfortably, not all rigid. You've got to be relaxed."

"Okay," Bryan shook out his arms and let them hang loose at his side.

"Close your eyes," Brand told him. "Breathe deeply, long breaths, in and out. Try to clear your thoughts. Don't think about anything; just let your mind float."

"I can't just not think about anything," Bryan complained, "It doesn't work."

"Here," Brand put his hand on Bryan's chest over his heart. "You can feel my hand?" Bryan nodded. "Focus on that touch; clear your mind of everything but that." Beneath his hand, Brand could feel Bryan's heartbeat slowing down. "That's right." When it had considerably slowed, Brand said, "Now, focus on your heartbeat. Keep that rhythm in your head." He gently lifted his hand away from Bryan's heart. "Let the sound of your heartbeat fill you up and push out everything else. Your arms and legs aren't tired; they don't matter. Breathe with the rhythm of your heart."

For a moment Bryan simply stood there, perfectly, completely still. "Wow," Bryan opened his eyes, and Brand stepped back. "Wow," Bryan said again.

"See, that's all there is to it," Brand said. "It's not so hard, really."

"It's bloody impressive," insisted Bryan.

Brand shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know, it's just what works for me. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Later," agreed Bryan.

Brand went down into the caves and caught up with Merlin in his library. Merlin gave him a mischievous look. Brand frowned. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

"Bryan seems nice."

"Bryan?" Brand laughed. "No, he just wanted some advice."

"Advice?" Merlin looked incredulous. "Oh, Brand, I don't think so."

"Honest, he just wanted to know how I did the concealment spell so well."

Merlin came over and placed his hand over Brand's heart. He spoke softly into Brand's ear in a low, breathy voice. "Do you feel my hand? Focus on my touch."

"No!" Brand yelped, blushing fiercely. "It wasn't like that!" Flopping down in a chair, he grumbled, "I forget how good the acoustics are in these tunnels."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease," Merlin grinned. "But, you know, Bryan does seem a bit fond of you."

Brand looked at the ground and kicked a small pebble across the floor. "He's not my type."

Merlin eyed Brand suspiciously. "He's a sweetheart and he's gorgeous. Brand, he's everybody's type. Hell, if I'd met him before I met…"

"Met who?" Brand pounced into Merlin's silence. Merlin shook his head. "Why won't you ever talk about…whoever he is? Is he still alive? Do I know him?"

"No, Brand, he's not alive. His life was a very, very long time ago. He was the sun in my sky. For all too short a time his light filled my world with joy until it was taken from me." Merlin's whole demeanour changed. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, the pride and confidence left his voice. "Losing him hurt more than anything else I've endured, before or since. Pain like that doesn't go away. You learn to live with it, but it never goes away." Merlin closed his eyes. "Humans were never meant to live so long. Ultimately, death ends everyone's suffering in the end, everyone except me."

Merlin so rarely opened up like this, even to Brand, that Brand hardly knew how to respond. He knelt down by Merlin's chair; he felt tears welling up in his eyes. "Merlin," he reached out and brushed a tear away from Merlin's face, softly stroking the wizard's cheek. "Oh, Merlin." Brand didn't know what else to say.

Merlin took a deep breath and gave a quick shake of his head, as if doing so would clear his mind. Brand could see the effort it took for Merlin to push his emotions back down and out of his mind. "I don't talk about him," Merlin told Brand, "because I can't dwell on the past or it will consume me. The only way I can keep going is to carry the memory of him with me into the future, always keep moving forward." Merlin wiped his eyes and smiled again. "But we were talking about you, weren't we? How did we wind up talking about me?"

Brand stared at his friend; he felt like his own heart was breaking with sympathy for Merlin. He had to say it. He couldn't not say it. "I love you." Merlin's face went slack with surprise. Brand leaned forward and tenderly kissed Merlin's lips. He tasted salty tears and wondered if they were his or Merlin's. Merlin didn't respond, but he didn't push Brand away, either. "I love you," Brand said again. Now that he'd said it, he wanted to say it over and over again. "I've loved you as long as I've known you." Brand looked into Merlin's eyes. "Say something," he pleaded.

Merlin sat silently, but Brand could see fear in his eyes. "You have feelings for me, too, don't you?" asked Brand. "I know you do. You're different with me than you are with any of the others. I'm the only one you've ever told your real name, Merlin."

"Brand, I can't."

"Can't what?"

Merlin stood up and began to pace the room. "Brand, for goodness' sake, I'm centuries older than you are."

"Bollocks." Merlin looked at Brand in surprise. "You're just making excuses. If you're so old, why do you go around looking no older than me?"

"What?"

"Why don't you look as old my grandfather? I know you can, if you want to. I've seen you do it." Merlin had no answer. "Come on," Brand prompted, "Why don't you do it now? Add on a few decades and kick me out of here like the young whippersnapper I am." Merlin remained as he was. Brand said, "You may have lived for centuries, but you're not old." Brand stood up and took Merlin by the shoulders. "Merlin, he wouldn't want you to be alone."

Merlin looked confused. "Who?"

"The man you love, whoever he was. If he loved you a fraction as much as you love him, it would break his heart to see you like this." Brand put a finger under Merlin's chin and tipped it up so he could look Merlin in the eyes. "How do you think he would feel, knowing that you've been bearing the pain of his loss alone all this time? I know you're afraid of being hurt again, and, yeah, someday I'll be taken from you, too, and you'll have to go on without me. It's the people we love who give us the strength to bear that pain.

Merlin shook his head. "It's too hard."

Brand smiled gently. "Only because you're trying to do it alone." He pulled Merlin into a tight embrace. Merlin rested his head on Brand's shoulder. "Let me help you."

Brand felt Merlin relax against him, felt his shoulders stop trembling. Merlin spoke softly, still wrapped in Brand's arms. "Arthur," he said quietly, "his name was Arthur. Yes, _the_ Arthur. King Arthur. If it's okay, I'd like to tell you about him."

"It would be my honour," Brand assured him.


	14. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 – Present Day**

The days fell into a pleasant rhythm at Cabislayne. My arm healed, and I divided my time between the excavation of Camelot, dinners with Morgana and Fanny, and helping Jason at his shop. I spent most Saturdays working with Jason, even learning a few new tricks from him. Dan and I became regular fixtures at Mort's café, and I got reacquainted with old friends, even if they didn't know we were old friends. Days became weeks which became months. It reminded me very much of some of the lazy summers I spent with Arthur in Camelot, when Arthur would find an excuse to head out into the woods alone—alone except for his faithful manservant, of course—and for a few blissful days, we got to shed all the cares and concerns of the court. Things seemed so much simpler back then. Now, in Cabislayne, I felt something of that same contentment again.

As summer began to melt into autumn, Camelot slowly emerged from the earth. Our work on Camelot was proceeding at a rapid pace. At least, Morgana assured me that it was rapid. Fourteen hundred years of life have given me a very long view and no small amount of patience, but even I thought the progress was painstakingly slow. Morgana insisted that we were practically moving at a breakneck pace for an archaeological dig. Our visions of the past continued, as well, and we were no closer to figuring out what they were or what was causing them.

Two or three times a week a great wave of nausea would sweep over me and, once it cleared, leave me standing in Albion of centuries ago. The visions seemed to come and go at random, with no pattern, never lasting more than a few minutes. The events they showed seemed equally unpredictable. Most of the time, we just saw the people of the city going about their lives. One time, from a distance I saw Arthur and the knights returning to the city, armour gleaming and people cheering. Another time, with Dan, I saw Kilgharrah soaring down on the city and setting it ablaze with dragonfire.

Late in August, Dan and I were in the tent with Morgana sorting through the endless stream of potential artefacts sifted out of the removed earth. I picked up one promising specimen, probably a coin, I thought, and began brushing away the dirt. The dirt crumbled away easily and I saw untarnished gold gleaming through the dry dust. I brushed away the last of the debris and realized what it was I had. I let out a quiet little, "Oh!"

Morgana came over to where I was working. "Something interesting?" She looked at the gold coin in my hand and smiled. "Oh, my. That's quite well-preserved, isn't it?"

Dan put down his work and joined us. "What?" I showed him the coin. "Hey," he grinned, "That's the first coin we've found that hasn't been completely eroded away."

"Yes," agreed Morgana, "And it's quite a good likeness." She tilted her head to the side. "Though I think his jaw was rather more square than that."

Dan took the coin from me with a reverent air. "Are you saying this is Arthur?" Before we could answer his question, we were interrupted by Doctor Moore entering the tent.

"What's got everyone's attention?" he asked.

Morgana presented the coin. "We found our first recognizable piece of currency. It's in remarkable condition."

Connor studied the golden token. "Yes, yes," he held it up to the sunlight, "Truly remarkable. An image of one of the kings of Camelot."

Without thinking, I spoke up. "Arthur."

He eyed me over the rims of his glasses. "Pardon?"

"The image on the coin," I said, dreamily, "it's Arthur." Behind Connor's back, Morgana mouthed, 'No!' and slowly shook her head to emphasize the point. My cheeks flushed when I realized I shouldn't have said that.

Fortunately, Connor just seemed amused. "And you would know, would you?"

I laughed nervously. "Just a feeling."

He adjusted his glasses and gave me a condescending smile. "Well, it _could_ be Arthur, but it could also be any of a number of Camelot's rulers. We mustn't leap to conclusions just because we want something to be true." He put the coin back on the table. "But," his voice got excited, "We might just have a chance to find out whether or not you're right."

We all looked at him. Morgana spoke first. "What do you mean?"

Connor looked like a cat who got into the cream. "We've exposed a hatch in the roof of one of the tallest towers. It's more than we could ever have hoped. The interior of the castle is still intact! It's unbelievable!"

Morgana's eyes got very wide. "You can't mean you've been inside?"

Connor nodded. "I just came from there. Would you like to see it for yourself?"

Connor led us to a ladder that went down into the excavation where we could see an exposed stone surface. There was an open hatch in the roof through which the ladder passed into the interior of the tower. Morgana was down the ladder and inside faster than any of us. Before Dan and I could follow, Doctor Moore stopped us and insisted that we don hard hats, like they wear at construction sites, and gave us each an electric torch. Connor was just going to take us down the ladder when his mobile phone jangled from his pocket. He slid a thumb across the screen to pick up the call and answered with a distracted, "Yes?" After listening to the voice on the other end for a moment, he followed with, "I see." His gaze slid to the gate where I could see a small pack of people gathering. "I'll be there momentarily."

Connor put the phone back in his pocket with a sigh. "It seems the press pack have scented a new development in the story," he explained. "I'd best go keep them from storming the castle." He handed us an extra torch and a hard hat. "Take these to Lady Fay, won't you? She really ought to be more careful."

Connor strode away toward the gate.

I carefully climbed down the ladder through the window and shone the torch around my surroundings. "Oh my." Gaius' tower was much the same as I remembered it. I suppose it wasn't really Gaius' tower, not any more. After Gaius passed away, I stayed up in the tower, continuing Gaius' work as well as my own research. I always thought of it as Gaius' tower, though. I browsed around the cluttered work tables. I had removed all the books and papers when I left, but the myriad tools and equipment were simply too impractical to take with me. Most of them still sat where I had left them, albeit under a heavy coat of dust and grime.

"Wow!" Another beam of light swept the room. Dan looked around excitedly as he climbed down the ladder. "I can't believe I'm standing in Gaius' tower. Where was your bedroom?"

With my light, I pointed to the ladder in the corner that led into the ceiling. "Up there." Quick as a flash, Dan was up the ladder, opening the trapdoor, and climbing inside. "Dan! That wood could be completely rotted out. Don't go poking around until we know it's safe!" He wasn't listening. I might as well have been talking to the ladder.

Dan's head remerged from the ceiling. "Seriously? That's where you slept? There's hardly enough room for a person in here, much less a bed."

"It did well enough." I chuckled, half to myself. "Actually, Arthur and I proved on several occasions that it fit two people easily enough, as long they didn't mind squeezing close together."

The main door opened, and a small, bright beam of light preceded Morgana into the room. The light came from a small LED on her keychain.

"Morgana!" Dan greeted her, still hanging his head down from the trapdoor in the ceiling.

"Here," I handed her a torch and a hard hat. "Doctor Moore thought you might want these."

"Thank you," Morgana looked around the room as she put on the hat. "Where is he?"

"He got pulled away to a sudden press conference at the gate," I explained. "How does the old place look?"

She was clearly excited. "You won't believe it," she said, "The entire castle is in incredible shape. Dirty, perhaps, but, considering it's been buried for centuries, it's in remarkable condition. None of the interior corridors or rooms have been filled in. It's unbelievable!"

Dan, returning from the ceiling, joined us and asked, "Can we see more of it? I mean, could you two show me around?" He looked so eager that I half-expected him to start whining like a puppy.

Morgana laughed, "I'd be delighted. Merlin?"

I smiled. "I'd like that very much."

It was remarkable to be back in Camelot after so much time away. I was terribly glad that I was seeing it with Morgana and Dan first, too. After being unable to say anything to all the people I knew in Cabislayne, it was liberating to speak freely of experiences here and share them with my present companions. We went slowly through the castle, exploring, talking, and remembering. Soon we found ourselves outside the smooth wooden door that led into Arthur's chambers. I put my hand to the door and pushed it open. It swung open soundlessly at my touch, as though all this time it had only been waiting for me to return.

We didn't say anything as we filed into the rooms. Miraculously, the glass windows through which Arthur and I had watched so many sunrises hadn't broken. There was nothing to see through them except dirt and rock, but they were still intact. I looked at the room and felt a by-now-familiar dizziness building in my head, a sure sign that another flashback was coming. At that same moment Morgana put a hand to her temple. I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, the sky outside the windows was a dusky orange, shading into violet. No sun was visible, though, so it must have been sunset, not sunrise.

I was about to ask if everyone was alright when I heard his voice. "Merlin." A voice I'd not heard for lifetimes, yet a voice I would never forget. Arthur spoke softly, tenderly, but there was a sadness in his tone. "Oh, Merlin, I wish this didn't have to happen." Morgana, Dan, and I looked for the source of the voice. At the other end of the room, Arthur and I—that is, Arthur and my past self—were lying next to a crackling fire in the fireplace. Cushions and blankets stolen from the bed formed a makeshift sofa. Arthur lay back against the cushions and I lay against Arthur. It was a fairly surreal experience, watching myself from the outside.

"Oh my goodness," I spoke quietly to Morgana and Dan, almost whispering. I knew Arthur and his Merlin couldn't hear me, but it seemed wrong to spoil the moment. I could remember exactly how it felt, lying against him, his arms around me so strong and yet so tender. "I remember this night…I know when this is. This is the night before he married Guinevere. They were going to be married the next morning."

I watched myself stare into the fire, trying to think of the right thing to say to Arthur. "I understand, Arthur. I really do. The kingdom expects their king to have a queen. If you never married, eventually people would start to question why you didn't."

Arthur reached an arm around my chest and pulled me close to him, grasping my hand and twining our fingers together. "It's not fair, having to hide like this. I love you. I want everyone to know."

I raised his hand to my lips and kissed his fingers. "No, it's not fair. But, if it's all we can have, I'd rather have your love in secret than not at all."

Arthur groaned. "Ugh! I feel like I'm betraying you, hiding you away from everyone and pretending you're only a servant. If I loved you the way you deserve, I wouldn't let anything stop me from telling everyone. And I would never marry someone else just to keep up appearances."

I sat up so I could look Arthur in the eye. "Arthur, I know you love me, and I love you. You are enough for me. I don't need more."

"You deserve more."

"But I don't _need_ more."

"Do you _want_ more?" I could hear the trepidation in Arthur's voice; I realized he was actually afraid of what my answer would be.

I cupped his face in my hands. "I want you." I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "All I want is you." I reached down and picked up a handful of ash from the edge of the hearth.

Arthur frowned. "What are you—"

"Hush," I silenced him. "Hold out your hand." He did as I asked. I pressed my handful of ash into his hand and held his hand tightly, so the ash was clasped between our hands. Before he could ask another question, I grabbed the back of his neck with my other hand and pulled his lips to mine. A light began to shine from between our clasped hands. When the glow faded, I pulled back from Arthur and released his hand. The ash had been transformed into a small blood-red diamond sitting in his palm, sparkling orange in the firelight.

Arthur stared at the gem. "Merlin, what is this?"

I plucked the gem from his hand and held it up to the light. "This is a symbol of our love." I plucked one of the rings from his fingers, a simple gold band. He watched me press the stone to the band and whisper a few words under my breath. For a moment my eyes shone gold, and then I held up the ring. The stone glittered in its setting, like it had always been there. Arthur wordlessly watched me take his hand and slide the ring back onto his finger. "This is a symbol of our love," I repeated, "which you can always wear, wherever you are, whoever is watching. When I see it, I will know that no matter what you must do or say, your heart is mine and mine alone. And when you see it, you will remember that as your heart is mine, so mine is yours, and nothing can ever change that."

Arthur circled his arms around my waist. "I love you so much."

"I know."

Arthur sat up and kissed me again. I leaned back into the cushions and pulled him down on top of me. His kisses became more aggressive; soon his hand was pressed between my legs, rubbing me through my trousers. The scene went black around the edges and everything went blurry. All too soon, I opened my eyes and once again found the darkness of a subterranean castle broken only by the light from our torches.

I didn't know what to say. My emotions were so turbulent, I couldn't begin to name them. Instead, I focused on the here and now. "Is everyone alright?" I shone my light on Dan and Morgana to make sure nothing was amiss and saw Morgana brush a tear from her eye. Her lower lip was trembling.

"I…" her voice caught in her throat, "I didn't know." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I wish I'd known…I didn't know. I didn't know."

In that moment, just for the blink of an eye, I felt a flash of white hot anger burning in my soul. I wanted to destroy the one who had taken Arthur from me, wipe her from existence, and I knew that I had the power to do it, too. But the moment passed. I forced myself to remember that Morgana had been shattered by Morgause and put back together in the image of the old religion, twisted until she no longer knew right from wrong. I put a hand on Morgana's shoulder. "It's alright. It wouldn't have changed anything if you had known; you weren't yourself."

Morgana opened her eyes and looked into mine. "Merlin, I had no idea…you and Arthur…"

"That was the idea," I pointed out gently, "coming out wasn't really an option back then. No more so than it was for a sorcerer."

"And Gwen?" Morgana looked puzzled, "That was all just…just a front?"

"Gwen was wonderful to us," I told her. "She knew about Arthur and me; actually, I think she knew before we knew ourselves. I don't remember who first suggested that Arthur should marry Gwen, but she saved us. If Arthur had had to marry an outsider," I shuddered. "I don't know what we would have done."

"Gwen always had the biggest heart of anyone I ever knew," Morgana mused.

"That she did," I agreed, "but, really, her heart always belonged to Lancelot. After he died, she never really got over it. I think that's one of the reasons why she agreed to marry Arthur. I didn't understand it at the time, but now…"

Morgana looked uncomfortable again. "Now, having lost your own love, you understand all too well." She looked back toward the empty fireplace.

"Morgana," I spoke as reassuringly as I could, "it isn't your fault. You weren't yourself," I repeated.

"In all this time, ever since then, there was never anyone else?" she asked. "You've been alone this whole time?"

I didn't really want to talk about it. How could I get involved with someone else when I knew that Arthur would be returning someday? How could I love someone when I knew that someday I would have to watch them age and die while I had to keep living on alone? I barely survived losing Arthur; I just couldn't face that again. I told Morgana, simply, "It's for the best."

Dan cleared his throat. "Well, that was…I wouldn't have complained if it had ended before Arthur got to second base with my dad." That made Morgana and I laugh. "But that was pretty amazing."

"Let's get back up top," I suggested. "I think we've spent enough time with the ghosts of the past for today."

Back on the surface, we found Connor just gearing up to head down into the castle. "Ah," he came over to join us, "I was just going to come looking for you. Incredible isn't it?" He looked at Morgana. "Oh, my lady, are you alright? You've been crying."

Morgana waved his concern aside. "I'm fine. This is all just a touch overwhelming, yes?"

"Of course," Connor nodded.

"And I've told you," Morgana added with a touch of friendly teasing, "to call me Morgan. Enough of this 'milady' business."

"Sorry, my…Morgan," Connor apologized. "Listen, everyone's going for drinks tonight to celebrate opening the castle. Won't you join us, and Merlin and Dan, too?"

"Sounds like fun," said Dan, "count me in."

I looked to Morgana. "Are you up to it?" I asked.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Are you?" I nodded. "Then that's three yesses," she said to Connor. "Where are we meeting?"

"Actually, I'd like to avoid too much publicity just at the moment. Is there a decent-sized pub in that little village of yours? What is it, Cabbyton?"

"Cabislayne," Morgana corrected, "And, yes, I think the Rod and Crown can handle a bunch of rowdy archaeologists."

The Rod and Crown proved to be a typical British pub like you'll find in any English town large enough to appear on a map. Like most of the businesses in Cabislayne, it sat on the edge of the town square. A long bar topped with polished dark wood ran along one side of the room with high stools along the side. Behind the bar, rows of shelves held bottles of every shape, size, and colour imaginable. Behind the bottles, a mirror covered the whole of the wall. Tables and chairs of the same dark wood filled the rest of the room. Neon signs on the wall advertised various brews and ales, and a dart board hung in one corner. There were almost as many holes in the dart board as there were in the wall around it. Behind the bar, a tall man with dark hair, light skin, and a friendly smile pulled taps and poured drinks.

Dan nudged me while we were looking for a table. "Who's that behind the bar?" he whispered.

"Agravaine," I whispered back.

Morgana drifted between us. "These days," she murmured, "he goes by August." She pointed to an empty table and said, in a normal voice, "What about that one?" We sat down with Connor and several of the other senior members of the team. Most of the table just ordered a round of the house beer, except for Morgana, who asked for a dry sherry, and Connor, who ordered Irish whiskey on the rocks.

A flash of silver on Connor's hand caught my eye, and I noticed he was wearing a ring with a small silver triskelion. Druidic symbols aren't uncommon in jewellery these days, but this didn't look like a modern reproduction. It was just a simple, unadorned design without frills and decorations, and it had a patina of age that didn't look fake.

"I don't remember seeing that ring before," I said.

"Oh, this?" Connor held his hand so the ring caught the light. "It's nothing, just an old family piece. I don't wear it around the dig, though, in case I should lose it. Sentimental value, you know."

I would've liked to know more about the history of the piece, but, just then, speakers in the roof began playing a singer belting a tuneless, off-key rendition of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody."

"Oh, dear," Morgana sighed, "I'd forgotten August installed a karaoke machine."

Our heads swivelled to watch the student grasping the microphone and singing, "Mama-a-a-a-a, life has ju-u-ust begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all awa-a-a-a-a-ay." He certainly gave it heart, if not tune.

"That's wonderful!" Connor exclaimed happily. We all looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "There's nothing like sharing an embarrassing experience to help bind a team together," he explained. "Who wants to go next?"

Morgana flatly refused, adding, "There's not enough alcohol in the whole pub to get me up there."

"Well, you know, the one who really ought to get up there is Merlin," Dan spoke slowly, almost as though he was reluctant to reveal a great secret. He didn't fool me; I knew he was loving every minute of this. I shot him a warning glare.

"Really?" Morgana suddenly sounded much more interested.

"Oh, yeah," Dan went on. "He's got great pipes."

"I didn't know you sang, Merlin," Morgana said. "You must go next and recover the evening. If the next singer is as bad as the first, everyone will leave before their second drink."

"I couldn't, really," I insisted. "I doubt they even have anything I know."

"Nope," Dan grinned a grin that put the Cheshire cat to shame. "No such luck, look here." He waved the song menu under my nose and pointed to a section. "Look, they have a whole section of musical theatre and Broadway."

"Merlin!" Morgana tried to hide her grin, but couldn't quite manage it. "Broadway? I had no idea."

The singer continued wailing. "Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me-e-e-e, for ME-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E!"

"Ah!" Morgana winced.

"Please," Connor made a face, "We need something to soothe our ears."

I looked at the list of songs and one in particular caught my eye, funnily enough, it wasn't under the musical theatre heading. "Alright, alright," I held up my hands, "if you insist."

The enthusiastic youth wrapped up "Bohemian Rhapsody" and departed the stage with a small smattering of polite applause. No one else looked eager to follow, so I got up and punched the number into the karaoke machine. A quiet melody in a rich minor key started drifting from the speakers, played hauntingly on strings. After a couple bars, a choir began an ethereal vocalise, floating above the deep melody on the strings. I took a deep breath and began to sing. The people all around me, all their faces watching, faded away. I closed my eyes and let the music carry me back into memory.

_Somewhere in time  
It was decided  
That you and I  
Would spend forever  
Hand in hand.  
The gods looked down  
And we were chosen.  
I'll soon be there.  
We have a lifetime to share._

"_Somewhere in time,"  
Words without meaning.  
They don't begin to say  
What I want you to hear.  
Our time is now,  
Not some tomorrow.  
This time must end.  
This dream will not drift away._

_Somewhere in time  
We'll love again.  
We'll love again;  
I'll count the seconds until then.  
Somewhere in time  
It was decided;  
Our time is now._

_Somewhere in time  
We'll love again.  
We'll love again;  
I'll count the seconds until then.  
Somewhere in time  
It was decided;  
Our time is now.  
Our time is now._

A soft chord held for just a few beats after I finished and then silenced. I opened my eyes and set the microphone back in its stand. Everyone was staring at me in mute silence. Even the wait staff were standing still, notepads in hand, watching me. I wasn't sure what to do. When I started to walk back to my seat, someone in the room blew their nose into a handkerchief, breaking the silence. Suddenly applause erupted all around me. I made my way to our table amid back slapping and several requests for more.

"Merlin," Morgana breathed, "That was beautiful."

"My God, son," Connor shook his head, "Who were you singing to?"

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

Connor chuckled. "Passion like that doesn't come from an empty heart, my boy. Whoever that song was for, I hope he knows he's a lucky guy."

My cheeks grew warm with a strong blush; I looked down at the drink in my hands. I was so caught up in the moment that it didn't occur to me to wonder how Connor knew that the object of my affections was a man, not a woman. "Yeah, that song always reminds me of…someone special." I met Morgana's and Dan's eyes and looked back at my drink with a shrug of my shoulders.

The evening turned out to be quite enjoyable. Since it was Friday, no one had to worry about getting out to the dig early the next morning, and everyone stayed late into the night until last call. Finally we made our way back to our respective homes. Some of the crew were already staying in Caislayne's one inn, and a few people took rooms over the pub for a night rather than drive back to Colchester. Dan and I walked back to our little house along with Morgana, until she departed to head up the hill to her own home. Once home, I fell into a deep, contented sleep. But it was not to be a peaceful sleep.

_Dreams are tricksy, slippery things.  
Their meanings are lost in the light of the sun.  
Warnings fly away on mem'ries' wings.  
_

_A dream of time long since passed: The time of kings,  
When the hearts of king and wizard beat as one.  
Dreams are tricksy, slippery things._

_From two souls so blessed by endless love there springs  
Sacred trust, their secret to be shared with none.  
Warnings fly away on mem'ries' wings._

_Together they stood against arrows and slings_  
_Of outrageous fortune, and always they won._  
_Dreams are tricksy, slippery things._

_Nothing lasts forever, Fate's wheel always swings.  
Where before beat two hearts, now only beats one.  
Warnings fly away on mem'ries' wings._

_Pain of love lost so long ago still yet brings  
Fresh hurt and new pain to magic's favoured son  
Dreams are tricksy, slippery things.  
Warnings fly away on mem'ries' wings._

* * *

**Author's Note:** If you're familiar with the song, you may have noticed a few errors in the lyrics of "Somewhere in Time." Those are intentional, sort of. I first heard the song in early 2014, shortly after a concert, right around the time that Cabislayne was starting to move from my head onto paper. The concert was put on by an Australian group called The Ten Tenors (if you're a fan of power vocals and/or musicals, you should really check them out; they're a great group), and "Somewhere in Time" was on one of their albums I picked up after the show. I was driving home from the concert, listening to one of the albums I bought, when "Somewhere in Time" started to play. I couldn't help but think that it was a perfect description of Merlin's melancholy mood in Cabislayne. Ever since then, "Somewhere in Time" has been indelibly associated in my mind with Merlin and Arthur.

When I decided to write "Somewhere in Time" into Cabislayne, I went and checked out the lyrics to make sure I didn't have any mistakes. To my surprise, there were two lines which I'd had wrong for months. I almost corrected them, but I decided to be a bit selfish and keep my own version. Mostly because, if you're listening to the song with dearest Merthur in your head, the correct lyrics are a little less poignant. (It's also worth noting, if you're familiar with the original John Barry version of the song, the lyrics of The Ten Tenors' version are quite a bit different than John Barry's.) If you want to hear it for yourself, I was able to find a YouTube video of The Ten Tenors' version. For reasons I don't quite understand, the story editor won't allow me to post a web address, but you can go to YouTube and search for "gQkQNX86Puk" (copy and paste it). It'll take you right to the video.


	15. Seventh Interlude

**Interlude – September 1977**

Brand gingerly stepped up the narrow deer trail that wound around and up Mount St. Helens, careful not take a wrong step in the dark. The moon shone brightly, but, even so, it wasn't all that easy to see where he was going. The closer he got to his destination, the faster his heart beat. Merlin's note had been simple enough, too simple. It just read, "Meet me on our ledge under the moonlight. – M"

Brand had no idea what Merlin had up his sleeve. Merlin was nothing if not unpredictable. Ever since the day Merlin had opened up to Brand and told him about his past with Arthur, they'd been virtually inseparable, and Brand still sometimes felt like he barely knew Merlin. These days, they were more or less always to be found in each other's company. Brand was happy, more than happy, to be Merlin's friend and confidant, but he wanted to be so much more than that to Merlin. And Merlin was well aware of Brand's feelings for him; Brand reminded him about them often enough.

The trouble was that Merlin was less certain of his own feelings for Brand. Although he was admittedly very fond of Brand, he'd never expected to find anyone else after Arthur. He kept telling Brand to be patient. Brand could accept that, after fifteen centuries, a fellow could get fairly set in his ways. He gave Merlin the time for which he asked and waited patiently. Well, he waited, at any rate. His attempts at patience were less successful, but he did his best not to pressure Merlin.

The moon was just rising when Brand approached the ledge where he and Merlin often sat together to watch the sun set. Merlin was waiting for him, sitting away from the ledge on a blanket spread out on the ground. A basket sat on the ground beside Merlin, and Brand saw plates and cups laid out on the blanket. Several of Merlin's faerie lights hung in the air above, casting the scene in a cosy light. When Merlin saw Brand coming up the trail, he rose and came to greet him.

Merlin smiled warmly, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Did you think I wouldn't come?" Brand took Merlin's arms and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You should've said there'd be food. You know I'd never pass up a free dinner." Brand glanced up at the moon. "Or should I say a free midnight snack? What's the occasion?"

"I thought a first date should be something memorable," Merlin replied.

"Merlin, it's beautiful. You…" Brand stopped. He blinked several times and slowly said, "First date?" Merlin nodded. Brand's heart began to flutter, he felt strangely lightheaded. "First date," he repeated. He slid his arms around Merlin's waist and drew their bodies together so their faces were only inches apart. Merlin's own arms slid over Brand's shoulders, encircling him. His dark blue eyes looked deep into Brand's brown ones. "A 'first' date," Brand said cautiously, "implies the possibility of more dates."

"Many more," Merlin told him, "if you'll have them."

"It might even imply a courtship."

The glistening lights sparkled in Merlin's eyes. "I certainly hope so." Brand tipped his head to the side and pressed his lips to Merlin's. Merlin closed his eyes and kissed Brand tenderly, lovingly. Brand arched his neck and Merlin allowed his lips to follow down the line of Brand's jaw. As Merlin's kisses began to travel down Brand's neck, he felt Brand's hands on him, exploring his body over the top of his shirt. Merlin returned his lips to Brand's.

The two of them parted for a moment and stared into each other's eyes. Merlin looked over at the picnic blanket and his eyes flashed golden. The dishes and utensils vanished, dissolving into silver light. Merlin backed away from Brand, never breaking eye contact, and sat down on the blanket, laying back and resting on his elbows. Brand sank to his knees, straddling Merlin's legs. Leaning forward to kiss Merlin, he slid his arms beneath Merlin's and slowly lowered himself down onto Merlin, cradling his love beneath him in his arms. Merlin reached up and grabbed Brand's head, crushing their lips together. Brand, still clutching Merlin, flipped over, so he was on the bottom with Merlin on top of him. His leg went wide and kicked the picnic basket, sending it flying off the ledge.

"Mm, sorry," Brand murmured around Merlin's tongue.

Merlin pulled back and grinned. "That's fine; there wasn't anything in it anyway."

"Sneaky devil," Brand stretched his neck to kiss Merlin, but Merlin playfully jerked back, staying just out of reach. Brand teased him, "What if I'd actually wanted dinner?"

Merlin twisted his legs so they were in between Brand's and used his legs to spread Brand's. He reached back and placed a hand between Brand's legs, rubbing with just enough pressure to make Brand squirm and sigh. Merlin leaned as close to Brand's face as he could without removing his hand, "I didn't think that would be a problem. Besides," he dipped his head and planted a kiss in the hollow of Brand's neck, "If you were really that hungry, there was always Plan B."

Brand slid his hands under Merlin's shirt, lifting it up. Merlin's pale flesh shone like mother-of-pearl in the glow from the soft lights. Brand slid his hands upward, memorizing the feel of Merlin. "What was Plan B?"

Merlin sat up and held up his arms. Brand sat up to lift Merlin's shirt off of his body and, doing so, wrapped his arms around Merlin's torso, bringing the boy's pink nipples to his mouth and kissing them. Merlin sighed and held Brand to his chest. "Plan B?" Merlin rolled his hips so his groin pressed firmly against Brand's body. Brand could feel the hardness of Merlin's cock, even through the trousers. "Plan B's a bit vague, but, if you're really hungry, I figured I could find something to stick into your mouth."

Brand grinned. "Plan B sounds good." He kissed between Merlin's pecs, then the top of Merlin's abs, then above and below Merlin's belly button. Then he kissed the hardness in Merlin's pants. He reached for the clasp at Merlin's waist and undid it, opening the fly of the trousers. Merlin had, it turned out, declined to wear any underwear tonight. Freed to the open air, Merlin's cock immediately began to rise and point toward Brand. Brand inhaled the heady, musky aroma of Merlin.

Merlin looked down at him, silently watching. Brand reached out and grasped the shaft in his hand, running his hand up and down the length several times before he lifted it and, locking his gaze with Merlin's, kissed the underside where the head met the shaft. A shudder ran through Merlin, into his shaft, and into Brand's hand. Brand closed his mouth around the head of Merlin's cock. He closed his eyes and went down on Merlin until he couldn't fit any more in. He pulled back but not off, and looked up. Merlin's eyes were closed and his lips were parted. Brand went back down on Merlin, starting slow but getting faster as he found his rhythm. He wrapped his hand around the base that he couldn't fit in his mouth, trying to pleasure Merlin as much as possible. His other hand cupped and gently tugged at Merlin's balls.

Merlin's hands twined into Brand's hair; he began to thrust his hips in time with Brand's rhythm. "Oh, Brand, Brand," he moaned.

Brand pulled off of Merlin long enough to look up breathlessly and say, "Say my name again," before taking Merlin back into his mouth.

"Brand," Merlin grabbed Brand's head and pulled him up and off of his cock. He leaned down and kissed Brand with a ferocity that surprised him. "I love you, Brand. You've told me more times than I can count; now I'm telling you. I love you." Merlin almost tore Brand's shirt in a rush to get it off of him. Brand's trousers and pants followed close behind. "I never thought I would ever feel like this again, but I can't get you out of my head. You're so sweet," he kissed Brand's lips, "and kind," he kissed Brand's neck, "and caring," he kissed Brand's bare shoulders, "and wonderful," he took Brand's hand and kissed it. He pushed Brand onto his back, so he lay naked in front of Merlin. "Brand Moore, I love you."

Brand ran his hands up the outside of Merlin's thighs and on up his body to Merlin's shoulders, pulling Merlin down on top of him. "I love you, Merlin…Merlin…" Brand realized he didn't know Merlin's last name, if he even had one. "Merlin, my love." Their gazes met and Brand saw embers of golden light kindle in Merlin's eyes. Even as he did, he felt the rush of magic, the flow of power through his body, and knew that his own eyes were similarly lit. They didn't stop to question what was happening. There was no need to. All that mattered was consummating their love for each other.

Merlin slid down so he was straddling just below Brand's waist. Brand's erection came up between Merlin's legs, just in front of Merlin's. Merlin grabbed both shafts in his hands and began to stroke them together. Merlin wasn't small, but Brand's member dwarfed Merlin's. The light in Merlin's eyes was growing brighter. Brand could feel power coursing through his body, every inch of his skin tingled with heightened sensation. Merlin leaned back, exposing his hole, and pressed Brand's cock flat against it. Brand almost whined with desire. "Merlin…please…"

Lifting his hips, Merlin positioned Brand's head against his hole. Brand swore he could feel the warmth from inside Merlin drawing them together. Slowly, Merlin sat down. Brand watched, spellbound as he disappeared inside Merlin until they met at the hips and Merlin's balls rested on Brand's stomach. Merlin took Brand completely without stopping or crying out. Only when Merlin had all of Brand inside of him did he finally release a shuddering moan of pleasure. Brand stared, mesmerized at the sight of Merlin's tight hole stretched to its limit to allow him inside. Brand reached for Merlin's cock, but Merlin grabbed both his hands, twining their fingers together and holding tightly. Brand waited for Merlin to set their pace. He had no desire to hurt his lover their first time out.

Merlin lifted his hips a short way and brought them back down. Again. Again, a bit higher. Again, a bit higher still. Merlin began to move faster, come down harder. Brand began thrusting upward, matching Merlin's downward strokes with his own upward thrusts. Merlin met Brand's eyes. Their eyes burned with golden fire, shining fiercely in the soft light. Merlin leaned back, holding onto Brand's hands for support; Merlin's erection stuck out over Brand's body. Each time Brand thrust up into Merlin, Merlin's cock would jump. Brand eagerly watched the precum ooze out of Merlin and drip onto his stomach. Brand could feel the pressure building inside of him; he knew this would be a sprint, not a marathon. When the sensation threatened to overwhelm him, he knew he would not be much longer. "Mer—" he gasped, barely able to breathe. "Mer—lin…I'm—"

Suddenly, Merlin's mouth was on his. Still grasping each other's hands, Brand slammed his hips up into Merlin with an animal cry that was lost in a kiss. Brand's entire body shook as his seed emptied into Merlin again and again. Before he was finished shooting, Merlin gripped his hands so hard that it hurt, and something warm, thick, and sticky hit Brand on the bottom of his chin. Brand felt more of Merlin's cum land on his chest. The fire in their eyes began to spark and crackle. The faerie lights overhead burned white hot and then exploded in miniature supernovas, leaving two naked bodies bathed in silver moonlight, golden light fading from their eyes.

Utterly spent, Merlin collapsed down onto Brand, trembling. His cum began to run down the sides of Brand's body. He felt Brand's cock slowly soften inside of him until it slid gently out of his hole. Neither of them made any attempt to clean up, or even to move. He closed his eyes and lay on Brand's chest, rising and falling with each breath Brand took, listening to Brand's heartbeat. He waited until his own heart had stopped pounding before he opened his eyes and looked up at Brand. Brand's eyes were still closed. When Merlin made to roll off of Brand, Brand put an arm around Merlin, pulling him back. "Stay," was all he said. Merlin couldn't tell if it was a command or a request. Maybe a bit of both.

Merlin lay back down against Brand. One of Brand's nipples happened to be right next to his lips, so he kissed it. Brand sighed deeply, so Merlin licked it. It shone wetly in the moonlight, and Merlin lightly blew on it, watching it harden and poke out. Merlin felt a shudder run through Brand's body, and Brand squeezed Merlin tightly to himself. With his other hand, Brand clasped Merlin's head to his chest, gently tracing his thumb up and down Merlin's jawline. "I don't know what I expected," he said, "but that blew it out of the water." Brand's voice rumbled pleasantly in his chest beneath Merlin's ear.

Resting in Brand's embrace, Merlin asked, "That was your first time?"

"Mm-hm."

"It was my first time with a sorcerer," Merlin admitted. He caressed Brand's body, tracing circles around Brand's erect nipple. "I didn't know it could be like that."

Brand moved his arm down from Merlin's shoulders and cupped one of Merlin's ass cheeks, squeezing it. There was no missing the hunger in his voice when he asked, "How long do you think before your second time?"

Merlin felt something moving beneath his legs. He didn't have to look to tell that Brand's nipple wasn't the only part his body getting erect. "Already?" purred Merlin. He felt hardness returning to his own manhood at the thought of more. He rolled up his hips and spread his legs, opening himself to Brand. He shivered when he felt a drop of liquid slide over his hole and down over his balls. Brand's seed leaking out of him or his own sweat, he wasn't sure.

Brand lifted his head so he could kiss Merlin properly. When their lips parted, Brand grinned devilishly. "No," he told Merlin, "not this time." He spread his own legs, took Merlin's hand, and guided it to his hole. Merlin didn't need any prompting. He slid one finger into Brand, then another. "Yes," gasped Brand. "Yes…you inside me this time."


	16. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – Present Day**

I awoke the next morning with a head full of wild images which didn't make any sense. I knew enough to be certain they weren't simply the by-product of too much drink the night before. I knew these dreams were trying to tell me something or warn me of something, but I couldn't muddle out their meaning. I decided there was only one sensible course of action. I left without waking Dan, and made my way up the hill to the stone mansion where Morgana lived with Fanny. It was early, but I knew Morgana and Fanny were both early risers. And Fanny was always pleased to have company, no matter the time of day. I knocked on the great wooden doors of their house, which were shortly opened by Morgana.

Morgana greeted me warmly, "Merlin, what a pleasant surprise. Won't you come in?" As she closed the door, she added, "Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?"

"I wouldn't say no to coffee," I admitted.

She smiled knowingly. "I didn't think you would. Come on, I've got the same blend Mort serves at the café." We went down to the kitchen where she poured two steaming mugs of black coffee.

"You are an angel of mercy," I assured her, taking my first sip.

"I try," she laughed. "But you didn't come up here just for coffee."

"No," I agreed, "I didn't." Morgana waited patiently for me to continue. "I had a dream last night."

Morgana watched the steam curling off her mug of coffee. "Since you're up here first thing on a Saturday morning, I assume this is a Dream with a capital 'D', not an I-ate-something-weird-last-night dream."

"Definitely, the former," I assured her. "And this is the third time in the past few months."

"That's worrying. What do you remember of the dreams?"

"Not much," I shook my head. "Hardly anything, really; just fragments. That's what's so frustrating."

"Alright, start with what's most fresh in your memory: Last night's dream. What can you tell me about that?"

"Arthur."

She gave me a startled look. "He spoke to you?"

"No, no, but it was about him. Living, dying," I frowned, "and something more. I don't know."

Morgana's expression softened. "Yesterday was a pretty emotional day for all of us, Merlin, are you sure it wasn't just a regular dream?"

"Positive. You know how it is with magical dreams."

She nodded. "That I do."

"In normal dreams, you're a living part of the dream. But this was definitely a vision presented to me; I was not a part of it."

"And you can't remember anything else?" I shook my head again. "What about the other two dreams?" she asked.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. "One was all about fire and ash, something terrible that had to be stopped. The other…" I groaned in frustration, "I can't explain it. It was about me, but not me. Not something that's going to happen, but something that, god, I don't know…didn't happen? I was…searching…looking for something…but when I found it, it only hurt me."

Now Morgana was looking worried. "Those sound," she sighed, "well, they don't sound good, Merlin. Do you think you're dreaming about the past or the future?"

"That's the strangest thing of all. Somehow I think it's both past and future. Something terrible that happened…and has yet to happen." I sighed. "Look, Morgana, I want to try and invoke a dreaming trance."

Understanding dawned. "I see. You need another sorcerer to invoke the trance and pull you out again."

I nodded. "I tried to do it alone once, a long time ago."

Morgana grimaced. "It didn't end well, I suspect."

I pulled a face. "Have you ever run across a bit of the Arthur legend that says I met my death when the sorceress Viviane imprisoned me inside an enchanted stone?"

"Yes," her brow furrowed, "Supposedly Viviane was my protégé. Of course, some versions claim it was Nimueh who imprisoned you in a magic tree. Or was it the crystal cave?"

"It gets hard to keep all the variant mythologies straight after a while doesn't it? The truth is that I went to the crystal cave and attempted the dreamer's trance. This must have been about two hundred years after Arthur's death. I wound up trapped in the trance; when I finally woke up, I discovered I had been asleep for over fifty years."

"Oh, my!" Morgana gasped. "You're lucky to have awoken at all."

"I know. Obviously, I never tried that again. I wouldn't impose like this except that I feel that these dreams are important. I need to know what they mean."

"Of course, of course," agreed Morgana. "Really, it's no trouble. Why don't you lay down on the sofa in the drawing room?"

From the kitchen doorway, Fanny pointedly cleared her throat. Neither of us had noticed she was standing there. "Sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing." She gave us a suspicious look. "How dangerous is this sleeping trance?"

"Dreaming trance," Morgana and I corrected at the same time.

"How dangerous is it?" she repeated. "I only ask because I'd like to know if I should be making preparations for a doorway to Hell or some such to open in my drawing room." She arched an eyebrow at me. "And perhaps Dan ought to be here as well?"

"Fanny," Morgana put a hand on her shoulder, "it's really not dangerous at all, to us or to your drawing room."

"I'll just be going into a deep trance, almost asleep," I explained, "but I'll still have control of my mind. The trance can call the memories of dreams from my subconscious, so I can examine them with my waking mind."

"It's only dangerous if you try to do it alone," Morgana assured Fanny. "It takes an incredibly powerful mind to break the trance from the inside."

"Yes," she mused, "that and fifty years, if I heard right."

"Which is why I'll be with him," said Morgana. "I'll invoke the trance, and I'll then break it after…" she looked at me, "five minutes?"

I considered a moment. "That ought to be good."

"Really?" Now Fanny looked surprised. "Five minutes doesn't seem very long."

"Time is kind of flexible in dreams," Morgana said.

"Squishy," I agreed.

Fanny smiled at me. "Time is 'squishy'?"

I nodded sagely, "To use the technical term, yes."

"Alright, then," Fanny gave in. "You two certainly know more about these matters than I do. However, I will be there as well, just in case." She stepped out of the doorway and waved an arm up the stairs. "Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?"

I lay down on the large sofa in the drawing room. Morgana stood over me, and Fanny sat in a straight-backed chair to one side. Morgana looked down at me. "Are you ready?" I nodded and closed my eyes. Morgana began to chant, "_Rwy'n galw y cwsg y breuddwydiwr, ddangos i ni yn awr beth mae wedi ei weld._"

I waited for the trance to set in.

And waited. And waited.

I opened one eye.

Across the room, Fanny remarked, "It doesn't look like he's asleep to me."

I opened the other eye. "I'm not."

Morgana took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Alright," she said, "Let's try this again." Once more, she started chanting over me. "_Rwy'n galw y cwsg y breuddwydiwr, ddangos i ni yn awr beth mae wedi ei weld._"

Again, no deep trance came upon me.

Morgana looked confused. "Merlin, you're not using any wards are you?" Her tone of voice held the very slightest of accusations. "Or protective spells?"

"No," I protested, "nothing."

Her expression teetered between annoyance and embarrassment. "Something is preventing me from casting the trance." She closed her eyes and concentrated. "It's very subtle; I couldn't even feel it until I tried to cast a spell on you. Something is shielding you from magic, or, at least, from this spell."

I sat up on the couch. "Morgana, I swear, I'm not using any protection."

Fanny chuckled to herself. "It's about time Morgan popped out a few grandbabies." Morgana rolled her eyes.

I blushed fiercely. "To clarify," I shot Fanny a pointed look, "I mean magical wards and counterspells. I'm not doing anything that should interfere. I don't know why this isn't working. Here," I picked up a coaster from a nearby end table, "See if you can break this spell." I focused on the coaster and added, "_Codi._" The coaster rose a few inches above my hand.

Morgana opened her hand toward the coaster and intoned, "_Dod._" Her eyes flashed with soft golden light and the coaster sailed back to the table where I had found it.

"So I'm not immune to all magic," I deduced, "just that spell."

"Maybe?" Morgana didn't sound very sure. "I've never heard of anything like that happening before. Not without powerful wards…unless…"

"Unless what?"

"I'm not sure. There's an idea trying to form in my mind…but I can't quite make sense of it." She put a hand to her forehead. "It's like all the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle are in my head, and I'm trying to put it together without knowing what image it's supposed to make."

"I doubt any good will come of trying to force it to come together," Fanny cautioned. "Just let it rest, you'll figure it out when you're meant to do so."

Morgana nodded, still a little dazedly. "Yes…I need to think…check some of my books."

I stood up to go. "I'll leave you to it, then. Thank you for the coffee."

"Any time, dearie," Fanny replied.

"Wait, Merlin," Morgana stopped me before I left. "How long has it been since you met another sorcerer?"

"Goodness, it's been ages and ages," I answered. "I think…let me see, yes, I think the last actual sorcerer I knew was in fifteenth century Italy, during the Renaissance. By the end of the Renaissance, magic had pretty much left humanity."

"I see, thank you." If that helped Morgana at all, she didn't say so.

The remainder of the weekend passed uneventfully; Dan and I didn't see Morgana again until the following Monday on our way to the dig. When she arrived at our flat to pick us up for work, she didn't offer any information, so I decided to ask.

"So, have you figured out what picture the puzzle makes?" I tried to inject a light-hearted note into the query.

Morgana nodded. "I think so, yes, I think so."

When nothing further appeared forthcoming, I prompted her again. "And?"

"Sorry," she laughed, "I don't mean to be so cryptic; it's just that this is, well, rather personal. There's also one last piece I of which can't quite make any sense. Do you mind waiting until this evening? There are a few questions I need to ask you." She looked into the rear-view mirror at Dan. "Both of you."

"I don't suppose another day will hurt anything," I said.

"Don't jinx it," Morgana actually winced at that. "I suspect those are someone's famous last words."

"Hopefully not ours," Dan said with a cheeky grin.

Morgana's fears proved needless, though. Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the day, and we all made it safely back to Cabislayne at the end of the day. We invited Morgana in to our living room and sat down. "You had questions?" I prompted.

Morgana sighed. "Merlin, I'm sorry; I wasn't going to say anything. I thought that if you wanted to ignore it, I would, too."

I gave Morgana an odd look. "Now you're making me nervous."

"It's just that I don't want to seem like I'm prying. It's really none of my business," she sighed again. "Look, I need to know about Dan."

"What?" Dan's expression turned puzzled. "Why would that be prying? I'm an open book; ask away."

Morgana looked at me. "He doesn't know?"

I was feeling a touch exasperated. "Doesn't know what?" I asked.

"Well," Morgana was getting flustered, which was very unlike her, "I'm not really sure. That's why I'm asking. He's…what…a golem? Something like an afanc?"

"What!?" Dan and I cried in unison.

"An afanc?" I shook my head, "What are you talking about? The only afanc I've ever seen was that monster Nimueh created out of clay and unleased on Camelot."

"You don't have to pretend, Merlin," she tried to soothe me, "I've known Dan wasn't human since the moment I met him."

"What!?" Dan said again. "I'm as human as you are!"

"If you are," Morgana spoke gently, "then you're missing your soul." Dan looked down at his chest as though looking for his soul.

"I think this is enough, Morgana," I said. "I suggest you remember that that's my son you're talking about."

"My god," Morgana stared at me in disbelief. "_You_ don't know, do you?" She put a hand to her head. "How could I have been so stupid? That was the missing piece of the puzzle!"

"Morgana? Hey!" I snapped my fingers to get her attention. "Explain?"

"Oh, dear," she glanced at Dan and then back at me. "This isn't going to be easy. Where to start?"

"The beginning," I suggested.

"That's easier said than done," she replied. "I'm only just piecing together what I've been able to observe." She closed her eyes for a moment and gathered her thoughts. "Dan, what's your earliest memory?"

Dan thought about it for a second. "I think it was when Dad gave me my necklace," he pulled the small pendant with the green stone from beneath his shirt, "in honour of my parents and the people who died at Mount St. Helens."

Morgana stared at him like he'd just turned purple with pink polka dots. "Mount St. Helens?"

"That's where Dan's parents died," I explained. "I never mentioned it because I know it's a bit of a sensitive topic for you."

"This stone is actually made out of ash from the eruption," Dan explained.

"Good lord," Morgana breathed. "Merlin, you were present at the eruption?"

I nodded. "I found Dan alone in his parents' base camp and got him out of harm's way just in time."

"Okay, okay," Morgana pointed at me, "and how old was Dan when you found him?"

"Right around a year old," I said, "just a babe in arms."

"And when did you give Dan the necklace?" she asked.

"A couple years later, I think. Why does it matter?"

Ignoring my question, Morgana pointed at Dan. "Right, and how old were you when Merlin gave you the necklace?"

Dan scoffed, "What do you mean? Obviously, I was—" he stopped. "No, that can't be right—I had to be—I mean—I—" he stammered.

Morgana got up and laid a gentle hand on Dan's shoulder. "You were the same age as you are now, weren't you?"

Dan looked horribly confused. "But I couldn't have been more than three or four years old!"

"Dan, can you remember _any_ time when you were younger than you are now?" Morgana spoke very softly, very gently. "Can you, Merlin?"

I tried to think back to when I gave Dan the necklace. It was hard, like trying to look through a window that was crusted with years of dirt and dust. I could picture myself handing the necklace to my son, the pendant with the green stone dangling on a silver chain. He put out his hand to take the necklace…but I couldn't see Dan's face.

Morgana looked at me from where she stood with Dan. "Merlin, raising an infant must have been a huge part of your life. Can you remember changing dirty nappies? His first word? The first time he walked on his own? Caring for him when he was sick?" I tried to recall any of those things, but nothing would come. "When you rescued an infant from the eruption, didn't you try to find the next of kin? Or report the orphan to child welfare? Why in the world would you decide the best course of action was to keep him and raise him yourself?" Sensing that I had no answer for her, Morgana asked one more question. "Have you ever seen Dan bleed?"

Dan looked at me silently. He didn't say anything, but I could see the fear in his eyes. "Dad?" he asked plaintively, and then, more urgently, "Dad?"

"I don't understand," I said. "I remember, I had you with me in 1981, when we went to Tehran to clear up that hostage business. You should still have been an infant, but you were in your thirties."

Dan stubbornly shook his head. "I couldn't have been in my thirties thirty-four years ago. I'd be at least sixty by now."

"Merlin, Dan," Morgana spoke in a subdued tone, "someone has had you under a spell, an extremely powerful spell, for decades. It's creating memories of a past that never happened; and it's shielding Merlin from any spells that might break the illusion. The first time I met Dan, I could feel that he had no human soul the same way I can feel when I meet a soul I used to know in Camelot. Something is preventing Merlin from seeing the same thing, and someone has created the illusion that you've been raising Dan since he was an infant." She drew a small hat pin from her pocket and held it out to Dan. "Prick your finger and prove me wrong, if you can. Believe me, I wish I were wrong."

Dan took the pin and held it to his hand. Both hands were trembling so badly that he couldn't prick his finger. I got up and took the pin from him. "You don't have to do this." I took his hands in mine and tried to stop them shaking. "However you were brought into this world, you're my son now. I don't care about anything else."

He looked up into my eyes. "Dad, someone could be trying to hurt you. You could be in danger. Worse, I could be a threat to you. I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you!" He took the pin back from me and stilled his hands with force of will. "I have to know. We have to know."

I smiled at my son. "I love you."

He smiled back at me and, drawing a deep breath, lightly poked the tip of a finger with the pin. We held our breath and waited for a bead of red blood to appear. No blood came. We stared at the tiny hole in his finger, watching as it slowly shrank and sealed itself until it vanished completely, without ever seeing a single drop of blood.

Dan closed his eyes. In a flat voice, he asked, "What do we do?"

"I know this is…alright, I can't fathom what this must be like for you, but I'm afraid you don't have time to waste," Morgana was all business, now, trying to keep us on track. "We need to break the spell that's blinding your mind's eye, Merlin. We need to find out what's happening at Camelot, what your dreams mean, and who did this to you."

"What about me?" Dan asked.

Morgana's expression softened. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Physically, I think you'll be just fine, but the illusion of your life with Merlin will be broken."

"It's not an illusion," I snapped. "Maybe I didn't raise Dan as a child, but he's been my son for decades…decades which _weren't_ illusions. The last thirty-five years were real, not an illusion; what we've been through together is not an illusion."

"I'm sorry," Morgana apologized, "I should have chosen my words better."

I could hardly process everything that was happening. I was feeling overwhelmed, and Dan was surely feeling the same. Morgana was right, though; we couldn't take time to wallow in fear or self-pity right now. "This spell that's blinding me," I said, "it's probably attached to an object."

"I agree," said Morgana. "For a spell this strong to last for three decades, you would either have to be in contact with the sorcerer who cast it or hold some object that anchors it to you. Other than Dan, has anyone else been in your lives for most of the last thirty-five years?" Dan and I both shook our heads. "Right," she clapped her hands together, "an object, then. It would have to be something you always take with you…probably a charm that also connects you to Dan in some way."

I held up my left hand. "Something like a ring?" I asked. "A ring set with the same stone that's in Dan's pendant?" I looked at the green stone on my finger. I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I had taken it off of my finger. I wasn't sure I had ever removed it. It was just sort of always there. I even wore it when I slept and when I bathed. "You know," I frowned, "Now that I think of it, I can't remember where I got this ring or Dan's pendant."

Morgana's eyes lit up. "Yes, something exactly like that."

I reached for the ring and tugged at it, but it wouldn't budge. The ring was too small to fit over the knuckle of my finger. Logically, it shouldn't have been possible for me to get it onto my finger in the first place. I pulled harder and only succeeded in popping my knuckle.

Dan's expression was a blend of worry and hope. "It won't come off?"

I glared at the ring. "We'll see about that." I held my hand up in front of my face. "_Yr wyf yn gorchymyn fy rhyddhau._" The ring shimmered in the light for a moment and the stone glowed from within. The stone in Dan's pendant began to glow at the same time. I could feel the ring vibrating on my finger, fighting me.

"It's strong," Morgana sounded almost in awe.

I held my other hand over the ring and shouted, "_GADEWCH I MI FYND!_" The stones in the ring and pendant fractured and cracked with the sound of glass shattering. Small shards of green stone exploded out of the settings. The metal bits that were left dissolved into vapour as if they had never existed at all. I gasped as a fog was lifted from my senses. I stared at Dan. Morgana was right. It was as plain as the nose on his face. He was an empty vessel, a blank. He had no soul.

"Dad?" Dan ventured nervously. "Are you alright?"

Before I could answer, I suddenly experienced a mental rush like the dizziness that preceded one of the flashbacks at Camelot. Memories fell back into place, events that had been locked away from my conscious mind suddenly came back to me. I collapsed to my knees, gasping, "I remember." I clutched at my heart and sobbed, "Brand! Oh, god, I remember everything!"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

The world is a little less intelligent today. Terry Pratchett passed away yesterday. Although he lives on through his 70+ books, of which there are tens of millions of copies in many languages around the disc...er, the globe, it still feels like he was taken too soon. Today, the world is a little less intelligent, a little less witty, and, as Neil Gaiman pointed out, a little less angry. Sir Terry continued writing, answering fan mail, and speaking for his favourite causes (chief among them writing and orangutans) right up to the end of his life. When he was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's disease, no one would have faulted him if he had simply retired out of the public eye; goodness knows, he had the means to do so. But he considered the option of fading quietly into the night and said, "Does not happen."


	17. Eighth Interlude

**Interlude – March 1980**

Falco sat cross-legged on the ground. The sun had passed its zenith some hours earlier, but still sat high in the sky. The hard ground hurt his old bones, but he could ignore it a while longer. A dream had woken him from a sound sleep in the early hours of the morning. The dream had left Falco with such a sense of foreboding that he had been unable to find sleep again. He had left the druid's caverns and walked down to the forest, seeking solace in nature, attempting to calm his soul. With a stick, picked up from the ground, he traced complex interlocking triskelion patterns in the dirt in front of him. A shadow fell over the designs, blocking the sun. "Emrys," Falco said, without looking up, "how are you this morning?"

Merlin sat down on the ground next to Falco, careful not to disturb the medallion traced into the dirt. "I'm well, my friend, but you, I think, are troubled." Falco continued drawing the design in the earth, adding increasingly intricate details. Merlin went on, adding, "The clan elders were in quite a state this morning when they realized you were missing. Connor wanted search parties organized immediately."

"They make too much fuss over an old man," Falco remarked.

"Precisely what I told them," Merlin answered. "At least," he chuckled, "I told them that that was what you would think."

"I will return to them shortly," Falco told him.

"I told them that, as well," said Merlin. "Tell me, what is it that troubles you?"

"A dream. A great danger lies ahead, something that could mean the end of the druids, those few of us who remain." Falco studied the design he had created in the dirt. "We walk a perilous path, Emrys. One misstep," with a sweep of his hand, Falco destroyed the intricate shape, wiping it from the ground, "and it could be the end of us all." Falco sighed. "We have many years behind us, you and I, but I have not so many in front of me."

"You have been a good leader to your people," Merlin pointed out. "Your leadership will continue to guide them long after you are gone, and you have done everything you can to prepare Brand to follow as the next leader of the clan."

"Yes, Brand," Falco seemed troubled at the mention of his grandson. "Skilled in magic, wiser than his years, beloved of Emrys. The people would willingly accept him; he would be a great leader, better than me."

Merlin frowned. "This troubles you?"

Falco shook his head. "You of all people know the danger of misinterpreting prophecy."

"Few better," Merlin acknowledged.

"Which is why I know you'll understand if I decline to explain what I've seen in my dream. I can't completely make sense of it myself, and speculation could be disastrous. But…"

"Yes?" prompted Merlin.

"What is it that my grandson calls you when he thinks no one else hears? Merlin?" Falco nodded. "Yes, I ask this not of Emrys, but of Merlin. Merlin, do you love my grandson?"

"With all my heart."

"I hear in your voice the truth of your words, and I can see the same truth in Brand. Not since his childhood have I seen him as happy as he's been since you entered his life. He is so contented and fulfilled; it gives me great joy." Falco turned and grasped Merlin's arm. His eyes bored deep into Merlin's. "Protect him, Merlin. He lies at the centre of everything which is ahead of us. Watch over him. For me, for the clan, and for your love of him, keep him safe."

Merlin's expression reflected the seriousness of Falco's mood. He was not taking this request lightly. "You have my word, Falco. As both Merlin and Emrys, I give you my promise."

Some of the intensity left Falco's gaze and he released Merlin's arm. "That is good." He stood up, stretching to ease the stiffness from his limbs. "Now, we should probably return to the others. I suppose they've worried long enough."

Merlin agreed and stood up. They started walking back toward the cave entrance when Merlin stopped and put a hand against a tree for support. "Wait…wait…" he was breathing heavily. "I feel…no…NO!" Merlin clutched at his heart and screamed, "Brand!" In a flash of silver light, Merlin was gone.

Falco could only stand and watch, sorrow etched into the lines of his face. Regretfully, he shook his head and said, "Too late." There was nothing else he could do now. He turned and began the long hike back to the caves.

\- x - x - x - x - x -

When the clan elders had found Falco missing in the morning, the first thing they'd done was to go and fetch Merlin. Brand had been woken when the elders came looking for Merlin, but Merlin had kissed him and told him to go back to sleep, told him that it was nothing to worry about. Brand must have fallen asleep again because he woke some time later. The other half of the bed he shared with Merlin was still empty, so he assumed Merlin was still out with the elders.

After rising and dressing, Brand had grabbed his knives from a storeroom in his and Merlin's quarters. There was to be a hunting party tomorrow, and it was Brand's job to head out and scout the area for signs of possible game. Brand exited the caves and circled around to the north side of the mountain. There were several lakes in that direction, which made it more favourable for game. After training with Merlin for a few years, Brand could now sense the intricate energies winding through the wards that circled the area around the cave entrance, keeping prying eyes away. He smiled when he recalled the first time he and Connor had breached those wards. They had barely known enough to recognize the strange barriers as magic. It was only because they were druids that they had been able to pass through the wards at all.

Brand exited the warded area and continued northward for several miles. He was almost ready to strike out east or west when movement caught his eye. Cautiously, Brand approached, careful not to make any noise. When he got close enough to see the source of the movement, his mouth made a silent O in astonishment. A great stag stood in the forest; his antlers were larger than any Brand had ever seen. This was no quarry to be hunted, Brand realized. Whatever this was, it was something far more special. This time of year, deer should just have started regrowing their antlers, but the antlers on this stag were clearly already mature. More than that, the deer appeared to be watching Brand.

Slowly, Brand stood from his crouched position and took a step toward the stag. The animal held his head so he could keep an eye fixed on Brand. It didn't appear to fear him, though; it simply regarded him with…interest? Maybe. When Brand drew near, he stopped and waited, not sure what to do next. The stag took a step toward him. Brand had thought that the colour of the stag's coat was a trick of the bright sunlight. When it came closer, Brand could see that it was, indeed, pure snow white.

"A white stag," Brand murmured. He lifted a hand to stroke the stag on his muzzle. "Seeing one of you is supposed to be a sign of good luck, right?" The deer slowly blinked its large brown eyes. "Or are you supposed to a messenger of some sort?" He patted the side of the stag's neck. "Merlin would know. The kings of Albion made a big deal about hunting white stags, if I remember right, but it's supposed to be bad luck to kill one of you, right?" The stag remained mute, watching Brand. "So what am I supposed—"

The silence of the woods was shattered by the crack of a gunshot. The bullet grazed the stag's neck, leaving a trace of scarlet red staining spotless white. Brand didn't even have time to realize what it was he'd heard. The stag jumped and fled, disappearing into the woods. Brand stood stock still for a moment, hand still outstretched, patting the stag that was no longer there, lips parted in an unfinished question. An almost perfectly circular wound slightly off-centre in his forehead began to bleed. The blood trickled down his forehead into unseeing eyes. Slowly, silently, Brand's body fell to the ground, a tangle of arms and legs. Excited voices rang out of the forest from the direction the bullet had come.

"I winged the bugger! I know I winged 'im; we'll have us a nice trail to follow now!"

"Did you see the size of that rack? Unbelievable!"

"C'mon, let's go find us a stag."

Three men emerged through the trees.

"Where'd 'e get off to?"

"Holy shit, Jim, you done killed a boy!"

"What! Jesus H. Christ! Fuck me! Oh, fuck me!"

"Well, what the hell's he doin' out here dressed like that? No orange vest. That what he's wearin' is as good as cammo."

"It ain't huntin' season, Mac. Ain't no reason to gear up."

"Fuck huntin' season! A buck like that turns up on yer door step, you grab yer gun. Ain't no guverment gonna tell a man he cain't hunt something like that in his own backyard."

"Nobody seen it, right? Ain't nobody 'round. We kin just leave and no one'll be the wiser."

A blinding silver light made all three men shield their eyes. When the light faded, Merlin stood before them. All three men stared in shock. One of them breathed out a quiet, "Fu-u-u-ck."

Merlin looked at the three men standing before him. His gaze took in the scene, the three men in camouflage fatigues, work boots, and orange vests. They each carried a long rifle over their shoulders. Merlin looked down and saw Brand's body lying on the ground. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound could come out. He fell to his knees, clutching at Brand. "No!" he sobbed, shaking his head. "No no no no no no…please, god, no!"

The three men looked at each other and slowly started to back away. Their movement drew Merlin's attention. He looked up at them, tears streaming down his face. His expression slowly morphed from horrified despair to hideous anger. His hands shook with rage. The hunters stepped back with fear. Merlin stood up. Even though the sun was in front of him, his shadow stretched across the ground before him. It was surely an optical illusion that made it look like the shadow was reaching for the three hunters because Merlin stood stock still, hands at his side. The men took another step back.

"Bastards!" Merlin's scream rang out, louder than a gunshot, echoing through the woods. His eyes blazed with golden fire. The men groaned and tried to cover their ears. "BASTARDS!" It felt like the sound got inside of them somehow and was trying to claw its way out. The men turned and ran. Merlin threw up his hands and the three of them were flung up off the ground, slamming into trees before crumpling to the ground. "No," Merlin's face was terrible to see, "No, you don't get to run."

The hunters tried to struggle up from the ground. One of them, a leg broken, tried to crawl away. Merlin spread his arms wide, hands flat, palms facing the ground. "_I uffern gyda chi._" The hunters fell back to the ground. A rumbling, grinding sound seemed to be coming up from the earth itself. "_I uffern gyda chi._" The men began to writhe in agony. Shadows stretched out from Merlin's feet, tearing and clawing at the hunters. On the ground, the shadows of the hunters were shredded to pieces and scattered to the wind. No physical mark was left on their bodies, but all three men stopped screaming. They simply lay there with soulless, dead eyes staring up at the sky. "_I uffern gyda chi._" The earth began to shake, tossing the bodies of the hunters around like dolls. Merlin threw his arms to the sky and roared, "_I uffern gyda chi! DAMNEDIGAETH YN MYND A CHI!__!_"

The earth beneath their feet started to roll and swell. Tremors shook everything with awesome force, only Merlin remained still, rooted to the ground, Brand at his feet. Cracks began to appear in the earth. The cracks grew, joined, widened, and spread, forming a great pit at least twenty feet deep. The hole in the earth continued to grow and spread until all three hunters fell into the pit below. He looked down at them, regarded them for a moment, then he lowered his arms, and the walls of the pit slammed together.

The tremors lessened and then ceased altogether. Merlin's rage gave way once more to sorrow. His strength left him and he collapsed on the ground next to his lover. He sobbed out, "Brand," before his eyes shut and everything went black.


	18. Last Interlude

**Interlude – May 1980**

"This plan is madness, Falco." Connor paced back and forth, infuriated by his grandfather's calm. "Emrys is gone. Accept it! The wards he placed around the caves are failing. Each day that we stay here, the volcano draws more attention from outsiders. As long as we're here, we risk exposure. We must cut our losses and move on."

It was nearly two months since Brand's death. Connor and the clan had hardly had time to grieve in the days that followed. What transpired when Emrys found Brand, no one knew for sure. There was only one thing known for certain. Emrys disappeared from Falco's company; shortly afterwards, Falco had heard Emrys' voice on the wind. Falco had told the clan that it carried a great despair beyond comprehension. That was when the earthquakes started.

The clan sent out search parties looking for Brand and Merlin. When they were finally located, the men feared that they were both dead. Falco examined the bodies and declared that Emrys still lived, though his mind and soul were wandering far from his body. Emrys had remained in a coma ever since. The healers had done everything they could think of to bring Emrys out of the coma, but nothing seemed to help.

If that wasn't bad enough, whatever power Emrys had released was not relenting. Earthquakes were a daily, almost hourly, occurrence. Some were even worse than the first, other weren't so bad. Out of options, the healers had asked Falco what they ought to do. Falco had sent them home and shut himself in Emrys' quarters. He had spent hours alone with the sleeping sorcerer. When Falco finally emerged, he wouldn't speak to anyone. He returned immediately to his own quarters and hadn't emerged since. That had been two days ago. Today, Falco had summoned Connor. Connor had listened to the plan his grandfather laid out. It seemed to Connor that his grandfather was grasping at straws.

Falco shook his head sadly. "Emrys yet lives, Connor. It goes against everything we hold dear to abandon him when he so desperately needs our help."

"Fine," Connor tried to reason with Falco. "Then we take Emrys with us. The clan will protect him, but we must leave."

"No," Falco insisted. "Emrys must be woken here. He is the only one who can stop this force he unleashed. Daily it grows worse. Emrys must stop it before it is too late; he must be awakened here. Once he has calmed the earth, we can replace his wards with our own."

Connor sat down and took Falco's hands in his. "Grandfather, I don't understand. What does the creation of this…" Connor pointed at the strange, mannequin that lay on a table. It was a strange, disturbing thing. Fashioned out of mud and clay, it had the general shape of a human, but it lacked any defining details. Its face was featureless, with just the barest suggestion of cavities where eyes should be, a slight mound where the nose ought to be. The hands had no fingers; they were just lumps at the end of the arms. "…this thing," Connor said the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "have to do with saving Emrys? Grandfather, I can't go on blind faith alone. I have to know why this is necessary."

"Fair enough," Falco agreed. "I went to Emrys with no more idea what was causing his trance than any of the healers. I sat by his side for a time, studying him, examining what I could see and sense. I could sense the spark of life still within him. It was very faint, almost extinguished, but still there. It seemed as if there were no mind within him, though, no soul. It occurred to me to try and contact Emrys' mind. I reached out with my thoughts and tried to speak to Emrys." Falco shut his eyes, clearly disturbed by the memory.

"Connor, you can not possibly imagine what lies within that mind. He has seen so much, done so much, learned so much…it's unfathomable. I was so small, a mere dust mite attempting to comprehend a mountain. I don't think he even knew I was there. I tried to speak to him, to communicate somehow, but it was like shouting into a gale. His mind is turbulent and disturbed. Somehow, in the chaos, a pattern emerged. A quiet centre around which everything else whizzed and whirled. I studied this small quiet spot of his mind.

"That peaceful oasis was the seat of Emrys' will. It is the strength that drives him on when all is lost; it is the stubbornness that makes him keep fighting even though there is no hope of victory; it is the force which can restore to order the chaos of his mind. But this incredible power can do nothing by itself. It can kindle the fire in Emrys' heart, but, right now, there is no heart through which it can work."

"Oh," Connor began to understand. "So he's literally lost the will to live?"

Falco nodded. "If he were anyone but Emrys, he would have died weeks ago. There yet remains one tiny thread holding him to life. He believes, with everything in him, that his first love is going to return to him someday."

"That's not possible," Connor protested. "Brand told me that Emrys' first love lived centuries ago, in the days of ancient Albion. He cannot still live."

"If you knew who it was that Emrys loved," Falco spoke carefully, "you wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the possibility." Connor pressed Falco for more information, but Falco refused. "This is not my secret to share," Falco told him. "Emrys jealously guards the identity of his lover; I only learned this by invading the privacy of his mind. I won't violate his trust any more than necessary. Anyway, it doesn't matter. What's important is that it may give us a way to restore Emrys to his right mind."

"How is that?"

"It is love that holds him to life. It was lost love that broke him in the first place. Love will heal him again."

Connor looked doubtfully at the clay mannequin on the table. "You're going to build Emrys a boyfriend?" He grimaced. "That's a bit…disturbing, actually."

Falco gave Connor a disapproving glare. "Such a thought! Honestly, Connor. I am not building Emrys' next paramour. Passion burns strong and fierce, but unpredictably. No, we need something more stable, more reliable. The love that brings Emrys back to us will be the constant love of parent for child. Once love is restored to Emrys' heart, his will to live will reassert itself naturally."

Connor still looked unsure. "How are you going to convince Emrys that he has a child?"

"I won't need to," Falco explained. "Not if this works." He reached into a large sack at his feet and drew out a simple clay jar.

"That's not what I think is?" asked Connor. Falco looked at Connor with such grief in his eyes that Connor knew his suspicion was correct. "Brand's ashes?" Connor struggled to understand his grandfather's plan. "Why?"

Falco regarded the clay urn mournfully. "Brand shared a bond of love with Emrys. It will help create a bond between Emrys and his son." Connor watched silently as Falco opened the urn and murmured a spell Connor didn't recognize and warm, pure light shone out of the urn. When the light faded, Falco reached in and pulled out two small green gemstones, one a bit larger than the other. Both stones were the same deep green as the pine trees in the forest. "Love will blind Emrys to the truth; the spell will wipe Brand from his memory and create a new history, a history where Emrys has a son. His own mind will craft a story that pleases him. As time passes, his mind will change their 'history' as needed to maintain the illusion, and he will be completely unaware of it." Falco replaced the lid on the urn and put the urn back in the bag. "It would please Brand to be able to continue helping Emrys, even in death."

Connor started to look hopeful. "Can this really work?"

"Yes," Falco spoke too cautiously for Connor's liking. "At a cost."

"What cost?"

With a heavy sigh, Falco gave Connor the bad news. "Connor, he must forget Brand. You and Brand were the first of us that he met. His impression of Brand has influenced his interaction with every member of our clan."

Connor's face fell. "He must also forget us." Falco nodded. Connor set his jaw. "What do you need from me?"

Falco hesitated. "I fear you shall like this even less."

Connor began to feel nervous. "What?"

"This spell, this love I am going to plant in Emrys' heart, can not last forever. Someday he will learn the truth."

"This will only delay the inevitable?"

"I will do what I can to make it last; I can put some protection in place that will shield Emrys from any magic which might accidentally unveil his past. But we need Emrys back now," insisted Falco. "The earthquakes are getting worse; I fear it is only a matter of time before a real catastrophe strikes. Perhaps this will give us enough time to find a more permanent remedy for Emrys. But, if we can not…"

"I am to put a back-up plan in place, aren't I?" Connor guessed, "in case Emrys wakes up and goes off the deep end."

"Yes," Falco confirmed. "I need you to leave us."

"Leave the clan!"

"Not for good," Falco hurried to add. "Not exile. But I need you to take a trip."

"I can't leave now," Connor protested. "Not when things are so bad."

Falco implored his grandson, "You must, Connor. There is no one else I can trust with this task."

"What is this back-up plan?" Connor inquired sceptically.

"To my knowledge, there is only one sorcerer who might—_might_—be able rival Emrys and stop him if worst comes to worst."

"I thought all the sorcerers except the druids died out long ago," Connor said.

"True enough," Falco admitted. "I did not say that this person was alive." Connor frowned; Falco continued. "There is a young lady living in England right now. She is the reincarnation of a very powerful soul. For generations and generations, the elders of our clan have watched this soul live through countless lives, always making sure she never learns who she once was. If Emrys will not stop this destruction, she may be our only hope." Falco watched Connor's expression as his grandson considered what he had said.

Connor's jaw dropped when he realized what his grandfather intended. "No," he said flatly. "Absolutely not. You're talking about Morgana Pendragon, aren't you? You can't possibly attempt to bring her back. She represents everything Emrys fights against."

"She was not always Emrys' enemy. They fought side by side more than once. And I do not wish to resurrect Morgana. We will restore Morgana's memories and her abilities to the young lady who currently carries her soul, by all appearances a very trustworthy individual." Falco pointed to the wall where the dragon-forged blade was hung, the blade which Mordred, one of their own, had used to slay Arthur. "Contact with such a powerful object which was so significant to her past life will be all that is needed.

"Please, Connor. If you will not do this for me, do it to save the man your brother loved."

\- x - x - x - x - x -

Five days later, Falco stood in the forest, at the very spot where Brand had been killed, where the druids had recovered the bodies of Emrys and Brand. Emrys' sleeping form lay peacefully on the ground at his feet. Falco had asked several of Emrys' students to move Emrys back into the woods in the wee hours of the morning, so nobody would notice. The rest of the clan elders, Falco knew, would never approve of this plan. They would spend days, weeks, even, debating and arguing amongst themselves, while Emrys slowly perished. Falco knew with complete certainty that this was the best, the only, thing he could do to help Emrys.

Falco's knees protested when he knelt down to unwrap the bundled package that the students had left beside Emrys. Falco was grateful that their loyalty to Emrys was so complete; none of them had balked when Falco had told them to say nothing of his request to anyone. They had performed admirably, delivering the sleeping Emrys and Falco's package precisely as he had requested. Falco unwrapped the packing blanket from his creation. Falco had put his heart and soul into the creation of his afanc. The afancs of old had been mindless beasts, monsters driven by instinct and animal cunning. This one would be indistinguishable from a living, breathing human being.

Falco's afanc had come a long way from the unformed, featureless mannequin Connor had seen earlier. It…no, _he_ had a handsome face with sandy brown hair and astonishingly beautiful hazel eyes. Falco studied the eyes carefully; he might have overdone the eyes just a bit. Working by torchlight in the caves, he'd not considered that the eyes would look different once they got into daylight. It was too late to do anything about that now, though.

Falco pulled a necklace and a ring from his pocket. "Here goes nothing," he murmured. He looped the necklace around the afanc's head and settled it around his neck. He took Emrys' left hand and slid the ring onto the middle finger. The stones in both the ring and necklace glowed for a second before returning to their normal appearance. Falco stood up, a tear falling from the corner of his eye. "Good fortune, Merlin. I hope you wake to a happier life than the one you leave behind."

Falco turned and began the long journey back to the caves. The day was pleasant enough for a hike, but he felt the loss of his friend and his grandson too keenly to enjoy it very much. The earthquakes, at least, seemed to have stopped. It had been more than a day since the last noticeable tremors. Maybe he really was worrying about nothing. Falco walked on for about half-an-hour before he stopped, frowning. The ground felt unsteady beneath him. He gripped a nearby tree for support. The rumbling of the earthquake was suddenly all around him. The ground beneath his feet rolled and heaved like the surface of a lake that's been struck by a rock.

Falco had no way of knowing for how long the shaking continued. He knew it was likely only a few seconds, but time seemed to stretch, moments became minutes. He breathed a sigh of relief when the tremors began to subside. His relief was short lived. The shaking had stopped, but the roaring, grumbling sound of grinding earth continued. Falco looked around, confused. His gaze fell on the mountain, far above him, but he couldn't understand what he was seeing.

It looked like the mountain was writhing, moving. Falco's eyes grew wide with horror when understanding dawned. He could only watch as the entire north face of the mountain fell away, tearing a swath of destruction down the mountainside with unimaginable power. Falco held a plaintive hand out to the mountain, silently begging for the lives of his people. As though intent on adding insult to injury, the side of the mountain blew outward, blasting out with force equal to twenty-four megatons of TNT. Molten lava spewed from the scarred face of Mount St. Helens. Falco fell to his knees. "Too late," he sobbed. "Too—"

The shockwave from the eruption, tearing outwards at almost the speed of sound, left nothing but devastation in its path. The earth was stripped bare. Everything was either blown away or instantly vaporized by superheated air; for miles in every direction, nothing was left.

\- x - x - x - x - x -

Merlin drifted back to consciousness feeling groggy and woozy. What was he doing in a forest? Where was he? He shook his head, trying to recall what had brought him here. Dan? Where was Dan? Merlin got up and looked around. Dan lay on the ground beside him. He lay so still Merlin was afraid he might be dead. The moment passed, though. Dan gasped and sat up, shaking his head as Merlin had done.

"Dad?"

"I'm here, Dan. Are you okay?"

Dan flexed his hands, moved his arms and legs, making sure everything still worked. "Yeah, I think so. What happened?"

Merlin shook his head. "I'm not sure. Do you know where we are?"

"I was just going to ask you."

Merlin looked at the forest surrounding them, at the mountains in the distance, one mountain much closer than the others. "Well, it's not England, not a mountain range like that. Too small to be anything in southern Asia. Definitely not the Alps. Something on the Pacific coast, maybe."

"Wait," Dan held up a hand. "Wait, do you feel that?"

"Yes," Merlin said uncertainly. "I think…yeah, that's definitely an earthquake. Don't move!" Merlin spread his hands wide and a shimmering, transparent barrier sprang up around the two of them. The barrier proved unnecessary, though. The shaking only lasted a few seconds, and nothing fell on the two of them Merlin lowered his hands and the barrier when the shaking subsided.

Dan tried to sound casual. "I suppose that could've been worse." Merlin gave him a worried look. "What?" Dan asked.

Merlin pointed at the mountain closest to them. "I think it's about to get worse."

"My god," Dan exclaimed. "I've never seen a landslide so big."

Merlin had closed his eyes, examining their surroundings with his other, more useful senses. He shook his head. Urgently, he blurted out, "Not a landslide! Dan!" Merlin lunged for Dan, tackling his son and holding him close. They disappeared in a flash of silver light just as the volcano blew out the side of Mount St. Helens.

The silver light faded. Merlin and Dan got up from the ground. Dan brushed dirt off of his clothes. "Did you just, like, teleport us? I did not know you could do that," he sounded impressed.

Merlin straightened his shirt. "Neither did I," his voice sounded strange, faraway. "I just…I just knew it was what I had to do."

Dan looked at him in surprise. "You've never done that before?"

Merlin's expression was confused. "No?"

"Dad?" Dan was getting a bit worried. "Dad, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Merlin nodded. "I'll be fine. Just a bit disoriented. Probably an aftereffect of the spell."

"Speaking of which," Dan looked around them, the forest looked much the same as the one they just left, "where did you take us?"

"Away," Merlin said. "Far away. West, I think."

"West? That's all you've got? Just, 'west'?"

Merlin pointed to the sun, not very far up from the horizon on their left, then swung his finger around to point at the enormous column of ash rising far away to their right. "West," he repeated.

Dan took the situation in stride. "Alright, west, then. Any clue where we might find some sign of civilisation?"

"No, but I suggest we get looking," Merlin said. "That ash cloud is going to spread. If there are any people around here, they'll probably need all the help they can get."

"I believe that's where we come in," Dan replied.

Merlin squeezed Dan's shoulder, "That we do, son; that we do."


	19. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 – Present Day**

I must confess, dear reader, the events which follow are all rather muddled in my head. Some of what came next is indelibly seared into my mind in vivid detail; other things are cloudy, vague, if I have any memory of them at all. With help from friends, though, I believe I've managed to reconstruct exactly what happened. It is, at least, as exact as one can be when dealing with magic.

I lay on the living room floor huddled into a shuddering ball, barely conscious of events around me. My mind was suddenly deluged with years of suppressed memory. How could I ever have forgotten Brand? In one moment I had discovered someone else who could fill the empty spot Arthur left in my heart, and, in the same moment, lost him all over again. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the heartache. In the darkness, I could see their faces hanging before my mind's eye. Arthur and Brand, the men I loved. They were smiling at me. In life, their smiles could light up my heart. In death, they seemed to be mocking me.

Dan gingerly laid a hand on my shoulder. "Dad?" He spoke softly. "Dad, can you hear me?"

Morgana remained seated. She looked unsure what she should be doing. "Give him time, Dan." When she spoke, there was deep concern in her voice but also a tender sympathy. She knelt down next to me on the floor and gently stroked my hair. "When my memories were restored, it was like being hit by a freight train. One second I was Morgan Fay, a twenty-one year old student. The next second I was Morgana Pendragon, evil sorceress long-dead for hundreds of years. It's not easy."

Dan sat back on his heels and studied me. "Whatever happened before the spell was cast must have been pretty bad. What is that he keeps moaning? 'Bad, bad, bad'?"

"I don't think so," Morgana shook her head. "I think he's saying 'brand.' Do you have any idea what brand he might be talking about?"

"As far as I know, he doesn't have any tattoos or brands on his body. Do you suppose it's a brand he put on someone else?"

Morgana frowned. "Anything's possible. Wait, look: He's opening his eyes."

I opened my eyes and looked into Dan's face. I knew him now for what he was. He wasn't an infant I rescued from a volcano; he was an artificial companion, created to restore me to my right mind. The history created by the spell was gone, but our real history was still there. Human or not, he and I had travelled together for more than thirty years. We'd done much together, I owed him my life many times over. I didn't want that to change. More than anything I wished I could just keep on pretending nothing had changed.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't even look at Dan without being reminded of Brand.

Dan looked at me with concern. "How are you feeling, Dad?"

I didn't answer. I sat up and looked around.

Morgana looked just as concerned as Dan did. "Merlin?" she prompted.

"I'm alright," I said. Then, "No…no I'm not." I looked at Dan again. "I don't know how I am, actually."

Morgana put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "We're here for you, Merlin. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I stood up. "I can't. Not right now."

"Okay," Dan said, standing as well. "That's okay, Dad."

"Don't call me that." I snapped.

Morgana looked shocked. I felt Dan's hand on my arm. I couldn't bring myself to look at Dan, but when he spoke I could hear the hurt in his voice. "But, Dad—"

"I said don't call me that!" I knocked aside Dan's hand. "I can't do this right now," I shook my head. "I need to be alone." I stalked out of the room and out of the house.

As I left I heard Dan call out behind me, "_Dod i mi!_"

Dan's hands clawed at the empty air where Merlin had stood. "_Dod i mi,_" he repeated miserably, trying to force Merlin to return to him. There wasn't even a flicker of light in his eyes. He couldn't feel any connection to the magic Merlin had been teaching him. He felt close to tears; there was an uncomfortable tightness in his throat. "Why won't it work?"

Morgana stood up and took him in her arms. She felt slightly awkward, comforting an artificial creation, but Dan was so clearly in pain she felt there wasn't anything else to do but comfort him. "Dan, I don't think you ever had magic. I think the connection between you and Merlin allowed you to share his magic, sort of borrow it. Now that it's gone…"

Dan sounded miserable. "Now that it's gone, I don't even have enough power to break a teacup." He stepped back from Morgana, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. "Alright, so be it. Should we go after him?"

"I think it would be best if you stayed here," Morgana told him. "Let me go after him myself."

"So I don't make him any angrier, you mean?"

"I'm sorry," Morgana said. "I know you still care about him."

"It's okay. You're right," Dan replied. "He doesn't want me around right now, so it's probably best I stay here."

Morgana left, saying, "I'll let you know as soon as I learn anything." And then she was gone, leaving Dan alone in an empty house.

Morgana left the house and returned to her car. Merlin was nowhere to be seen up or down the road. She got into the car and sat in the driver's seat, thinking. Where would Merlin go? To see his mother or Gaius? Doubtful. He'd want to see Hunith and Gaius, not Helen and Jason. Arthur's grave? No, she discarded that thought. Merlin wouldn't want to go somewhere that would remind him of his loss; he'd want to go somewhere that would remind him of the good times he'd had. There was really only one place he could be headed, she realized. Pulling out onto the road, Morgana started driving toward Camelot.

When she reached the dig site, Morgana found the night guards fast asleep. Several of them had apparently fallen asleep in standing positions. It was the work of a spell, she realized, not lazy guards. She slipped past the guards and through the gate, making for the ladder that led down into the castle's interior. Since no one else was here at this hour, she didn't bother with an electric torch. When she got down into the top of Gaius' tower, she whispered, "_Goleuo_." A bright, twinkling light appeared in the air over her shoulder. She stepped out of the room, and the faerie light followed her.

Morgana moved quickly through the empty corridors of Camelot. She was certain now that she knew where she would find Merlin. When she drew close to Arthur's chambers, she could see light shining out through the door. She stopped in the doorway. Merlin sat on the edge of the bed, resting his chin on his hands, staring across the room at nothing. Morgana took a step into the room. "May I come in?" she asked. Merlin nodded. Morgana came across and sat down next to him on the bed and said nothing. Merlin would explain himself in his own time.

They sat in silence for a long time, Morgana wasn't sure how long, until Merlin finally spoke. "I know why we've been seeing visions of the past."

It wasn't what Morgana had expected, but she was simply glad Merlin was speaking again. "Really? Why?"

"It's me," Merlin told her.

"You?" Morgana was genuinely surprised. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I only just realized that I've been causing the visions. I think I've known for a while that it was me, but I wouldn't admit it to myself because I didn't want them to stop. Without the spell helping to supress my memories, I can't ignore it anymore."

"But, Merlin, why?"

Merlin's lips curved up at the corners, sadly. "You really have changed," he said. "Even before you left Camelot, in the old days your first question would've been, 'How?' not, 'Why?'"

"The 'how' doesn't matter," Morgana tried to reassure Merlin. "I'm much more concerned why my friend is so troubled."

"In those visions, once in a while, I got to see him again. Far-off, fleeting glimpses, but I saw him. Even when I didn't, I knew that somewhere up in the castle or out in the woods, Arthur was alive again, as long as the vision lasted." Merlin stood up from the bed and began pacing, getting agitated. "Do you know why I've been alone ever since Arthur died? It's not because there hasn't been anyone who I loved. I can't seem to stop my heart from loving; it's like a sickness. I stay alone because it hurts too much when they're gone. The only way I can protect myself from that pain is to ignore what my heart wants and keep those feelings from ever getting out. And that's exactly what I did, until I met Brand."

"Brand?" Morgana was beginning to understand now. "Brand was your lover?"

"He was so unexpected. One day a druid boy just turned up on my doorstep and nothing was ever the same again."

"I didn't know there were any druids left," Morgana exclaimed.

Merlin shut his eyes and grimaced. "There aren't," he said in a flat voice. "Not anymore. Some hunters in the forest killed Brand. Probably an accident; I don't know. I saw Brand lying dead at their feet…it was Arthur all over again. Except, this time, the men who had done it were standing in front of me. I don't even have words for what I felt. I destroyed them. I obliterated them. I shredded their souls and broke their bodies. After taking my vengeance, I fell into a coma."

Merlin's shoulders began to shake. Morgana got up and took him in her arms, trying to comfort him.

Merlin kept on with his story. His voice kept growing more frantic. "Brand died a few miles from Mount St. Helens. The geology was already unstable. I started a chain reaction when I killed those men. It built up for two months while I lay comatose. The druids must have made Dan to try and bring me back and undo the damage I had done, but it was too late. I woke up in the forest with Dan seconds before Mount St. Helens erupted, wiping out the last of the druids. Dan and I barely escaped ourselves."

Merlin was sounding dangerously manic. "Merlin," Morgana soothed, "that's all in the past. There's nothing to be done for it now."

"The past?" Merlin looked up and pushed Morgana away. "Yes, the past. When I got here and saw all those familiar faces in Cabislayne, and then, to be back at Camelot again," Merlin was beginning to babble. "I wanted the past back so badly, I tried to make it come to life again."

"The visions," Morgana realized. "You were trying to pull the past into the present."

"Trying," Merlin agreed. "Trying, trying. Never got it."

Morgana felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. She closed her eyes and reached out for Merlin. "Merlin, please," but the dizziness was already passing. Outside the windows Morgana saw the moonlit forest around Camelot. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and Arthur stood barely two feet from her. He must have been getting ready to go to bed because he was almost completely undressed, wearing just his tight smallclothes. He walked through Morgana and sat down on the bed where she had been sitting only a minute before.

Merlin gazed at Arthur with such undisguised, bare pain that it hurt Morgana to see it. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow in concentration. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and his breathing became laboured.

"Merlin," Morgana tried to get his attention. "What are you doing?"

He ignored her. Then he relaxed and opened his eyes. He looked at Arthur again, a smile touching his lips. "Arthur?"

Arthur's head snapped up at the sound of his name. "Merlin!?"

Merlin smiled radiantly. "Arthur!"

"No, Merlin!" Morgana's expression turned to one of horror, "You can't do this." Merlin ignored her. "You can't change the past; it's too dangerous!"

Arthur blinked in confusion. "Merlin, what are you doing here? I dismissed you for the night."

"What do you mean?" Merlin's smile dimmed slightly. "Arthur, where else would I be?"

"In your bedroom, I assume," Arthur said testily, "or perhaps the tavern. It's hardly my concern what you do after you leave. Why are you grinning like that? It's odd." He looked Merlin up and down, noticing his blue jeans, tee-shirt, and shoes. "And what in the world are you wearing?"

Merlin faltered, unsure what to do. "Arthur, why are you acting like this?" He reached out to touch Arthur's cheek.

Arthur knocked Merlin's hand aside, rolling his eyes. "Clearly, you've already been to the tavern," he said. "Go back to your room and sleep it off. If you're lucky, you won't remember any of this in the morning." Arthur shoved Merlin out of the room and shut the door behind him.

Morgana's vision went black and then cleared again. They were back in the present. The castle was back underground, and Arthur's door was wide open again. Merlin stood in the corridor outside. "I don't understand," his voice was plaintive.

"That must have been before you and Arthur were together," Morgana gently told him. "Before you had realized your feelings for each other."

"Too early," Merlin said simply. "I was too early."

Morgana took Merlin by the shoulder. "Let's leave this place. Why don't you stay with Fanny and me tonight?"

"No."

"Merlin, I don't think it's good for you to be here," Morgana tried to get Merlin to leave.

"No," his voice had an odd edge to it. "No. If I can't force the present back into the past, then I just have to rebuild it again."

"Rebuild what?"

"Everything." The castle started to shake all around them.

Morgana felt a sense of vertigo. For a moment she thought another vision was starting, but nothing changed. "Merlin, what are you doing?" Her question was answered a moment later. The dirt packed against the windows of Arthur's chambers fell away as the window rose up out of the ground. Morgana ran to the window and looked out. Camelot was rising up out of the ground; the ground appeared to fall away from the window as the castle rose higher. "Merlin!" Morgana cried out. "Emrys! Stop this at once!"

Merlin spared her a glance. "Be gone, witch." He made a motion as though brushing a bug out of the air. Morgana was thrown through the window, shattering the glass. Morgana hit the ground hard. Fortunately, the window was not yet high enough for the fall to hurt her badly. She got to her feet and watched the castle rise higher. She felt trembling in the ground beneath her feet and realized that she was still standing over the outer edges of the castle. Turning away from the rising castle, Morgana fled to the outer edges of the dig site. When she reached the gate, she saw another figure running through the darkness toward her.

"Morgan!" Doctor Moore called out to her. "I couldn't get hold of the night guards on the phone, so I came out to see what was happening." He looked out at the castle rising from the earth. "My god, Morgan, what's happening?"

"I don't know," replied Morgana, "but I'm certain it's not good. Listen, Connor, you've got to clear everyone away from here. Keep the public out; keep the workers out. I need…I need," Morgana shook her head. "I don't know. Just keep everyone out, alright? I'll be back."

"Lady Morgan, please, wait." Connor tried to stop her but Morgana shrugged him off and began to circle around the rising castle. Connor called out after her. His voice rang out across the meadow. "Morgana Pendragon!" Morgana froze in her tracks. "He has remembered, hasn't he?" Connor asked.

Morgana turned around and pinned Connor beneath her gaze. Her voice was guarded. "Who are you?"

Connor had no doubt that she would not take kindly to a lie. "I am Connor Moore, milady, the last living druid. You might have heard of my brother, Brand."

"Brand was your brother? Then you must be one of the druids who created Dan."

Connor nodded. "My grandfather was the one who created the afanc, but I knew about the plan. I was away when the rest of the clan perished in the Mount St. Helens disaster."

Morgana's eyes narrowed. "That explains how you know Merlin. How is it that you know who _I_ am?"

Connor bowed his head. "Thirty-five years ago, on the day my clan died, you encountered a certain sword." Morgana inhaled sharply but said nothing. "I am the one who arranged for you to find that blade. That is why I was not with the rest of my clan on that day."

Morgana took a deep breath, calming herself before she replied. "Why would you do that?"

"Because of this!" Connor pointed out at the castle. The outer walls had breached the ground now and were rising only a few feet from where they stood. "Because my grandfather knew that this day would come and he knew that only another sorcerer of extraordinary ability would have a hope of stopping Emrys."

Morgana held up a hand. "This is all immaterial. There will be plenty of time later to discuss history. Right now the more pressing concern is saving Merlin."

The walls of Camelot were fully exposed now. The wind whipped itself into a frenzy, lightning started jumping from cloud to cloud above them, and thunder boomed overhead. "I don't think it's Merlin we need to worry about saving," Connor had to shout to make himself heard over the wind. Rain started to pelt them hard. "Perhaps we should regroup and try to make a plan?"

"No," Morgana shouted back. "No time. Whatever he's doing, he's doing it now." Morgana ran toward the nearest gate. "We must get in and stop him!" When Morgana drew close to the gate, it slammed shut. She pushed against it, but it wouldn't budge.

"I don't think he wants us to get in," Connor said. Morgana nodded, shouting something Connor couldn't make out in the storm. Connor ducked under the shelter of the overhang above the gate. "What?"

"It's not just the gate keeping us out," Morgana repeated. She tapped the surface of the gate and the air rippled like water. Some kind of protective spell had been placed on the castle wall. "Merlin's not taking any chances that we might break through the gate." The stone around them began to glow with a strange blue light. "Come on," Morgana grabbed Connor's arm. "It's not safe here." She pulled Connor away from the stone wall just as Camelot erupted in a firestorm of crackling blue energy. Strange lights flickered in the sky, green and red and purple, all swirling around the centre of the castle. The heavens above Camelot looked like someone had taken the aurora borealis and flushed it down a toilet so all the lights spiralled in to the centre. A beam of pure white light lanced up from within Camelot and pierced the centre of the storm.

"What the hell is he doing?" Connor screamed.

"I don't know," Morgana admitted, "I think he thinks he can bring Arthur back to life by rebuilding Camelot."

"Rebuild Camelot? What does that mean?"

"I don't know!" Morgana looked at the whirling storm of energy surrounding the castle. "I think he means to do a lot more than just restore the castle. I don't know if he even knows what he's doing. He's badly upset."

"Arthur?" Connor looked confused. "You mean King Arthur, right? Why would Emrys want to bring him back to life?"

Morgana gave her newfound ally a sidelong glance. "You know, surely, that your brother was not the first man Merlin fell in love with."

"Yeah, Brand told me there was someone in Camelot…wait," Connor's jaw dropped. "Arthur! Arthur and Emrys?"

"That's about the size of it," Morgana confirmed.

"Arthur Pendragon was in love with a sorcerer!? And he still continued his father's war against magic?"

"I didn't give him much choice," Morgana pointed out. "Before you ask, I didn't know back then. I only discovered it myself a few days ago." She held up a hand to stop any more questions. "Look, none of this matters right now." She pointed at the hellish chaos surrounding Camelot. The castle was beginning to discharge energy like lightning. Blasts leapt out and split trees in two and scorched huge swaths of meadow. One blast hit Connor's truck and threw it onto its side.

"Point taken," Connor acknowledged.

"The spell that bound Merlin to Dan," Morgana shouted, "Can you recreate it?"

"So we can do this again in another thirty years? Are you mad?" Connor shook his head. "I don't know if I could do it, anyway. Do you have the gemstones that were used?"

"The stones from Merlin's ring and Dan's necklace? No, Merlin destroyed them when he broke the spell."

"We'll never be able to recreate the spell without those," Connor told her. "They were made from Brand's ashes."

"I see," Morgana closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Well then, your grandfather thought we'd need an extraordinary sorcerer to stop Merlin. Let's hope I can be extraordinary." Morgana pointed at the ground at her feet. A flame leapt from her fingers and scorched the ground. The rain sizzled and steamed where it struck the freshly burned ground. Morgana began to walk slowly, leaving a burnt streak on the ground. Before Connor could ask what she was doing, Morgana started chanting low and soft and faster than Connor had ever heard anyone cast a spell. The burnt ground began to glow white.

Connor watched for a second before holding up a hand and, with a word, summoning his own flame. "Here, my lady, let me help."

"No," Morgana shook her head, "I have to do this myself. There is something you can do, though."

"Name it," Connor replied immediately.

"Mordred's sword," she said, "I need it." Morgana saw the hesitation in Connor's expression. "I might have been able to hold my own against Merlin fifteen centuries ago, but not now," she told him. "If I'm to contain whatever this is, I'm going to need help."

Connor nodded. "Alright."

"Here," Morgana handed Connor the keys to her car. "I live in the large estate on the edge of Cabislayne. Tell the woman who answers the door that I need the dragon's blade to save Emrys. She'll get the sword for you. If she questions you, tell her…" Morgana tried to think of something that would convince Fanny to trust Connor. "Tell her…"

Connor reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. "This is the twenty-first century, my lady," he smiled gently, "why don't you tell her yourself?" He pointed the phone's camera at Morgana and pressed record.

\- x - x - x - x - x -

Dan stood alone in the house he shared with Merlin. Merlin and Morgana had both left, leaving him to his own devices. He stared at himself in the mirror over the bathroom sink. How could he not be real? He had memories. He had feelings. His father's rejection had broken his heart…except he didn't really have a heart, did he? He lifted the left sleeve of his shirt so he could see the tattoo above his wrist. It was just a geometric pattern of narrow triangles and rectangles, pleasing in its simplicity. He remembered how angry his father had been when he'd got this tattoo without telling him.

Was that a real memory? Had that actually happened, or was that one of the fake memories planted to create the illusion of a past? Dan wasn't sure anymore what had actually happened and what was a product of the spell that had bound him to Merlin. He looked into his eyes in the mirror. "You're real," he told himself. "I'm real. I exist." What did it matter how he had come into existence? He existed now, that was all that mattered. He had to find Merlin. Whether or not Merlin was his father, he was in trouble and he needed help.

Dan ran out of the house in time to see a storm building in the distance. Lightning started flashing in the sky about where Camelot should be. Dan ran for the car and, pulling out onto the road, watched as the lightning turned into a strange lightstorm. He came to a fork in the road. Going right would take him toward Camelot and the storm. Going left would take him onto the main highway. What did he owe Merlin? Dan had travelled with Merlin, cared for him and loved him for thirty years, and Merlin had discarded him in a single night.

Dan had saved Merlin's life on countless occasions; shouldn't that have counted for something? If their positions had been reversed, Dan thought he would have considered the many times Merlin had saved his life before rejecting him out of hand. With a groan, he let his head fall forward until it hit the steering wheel. "It does count for something, to me, at least." No matter what Merlin said, Dan still considered him his father, and Dan still loved him. He didn't want to abandon his father. But what did it matter, anyway? There was no way Dan could force the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived to talk to him if Merlin didn't want to. There was nothing he could do help Merlin. Or was there?

Dan turned the car left, and struck out for the main highway. He drove fast, well in excess of the limit, but he seemed to have the road to himself. As he drove further from Cabislayne, the storm only got more violent. Soon the rain was falling so hard he could barely see where he was going. He kept going, though; he had to keep going. He had no choice. The rain was so hard and heavy, he almost missed his turning. He barely swerved off the road in time to take the exit he wanted.

Dan drove along a country road beginning to flood with water. His car sprayed water up behind him as he careened through the turns and twists of the road. He was dangerously close to hydroplaning, he knew, but what did he care? He would probably survive a crash, right? It's not like he was actually human. Finally he found his destination and pulled the car to the side of the road. When he opened the door, he found the water was so deep, it nearly came up to the floorboards of the car.

Dan splashed out into the puddle and slammed the door shut behind him. He might not be able to get the car back out of that, he knew, but none of that mattered. He climbed up and over the fence that made a barrier between the road and the lake. "Hey!" He screamed out, not caring that the wind tore away his voice as soon as the words had left his mouth. "HEY!" He screamed so loudly that his throat hurt. He picked up a nearby stone and threw it into the lake.

The surface of Avalon was already so choppy with wind and rain that the disturbance of a stone was hardly noticeable. "Do you hear me? I'm talking to you!" Dan shrieked. "Yeah, you, Arthur!" Dan waded out into the lake up to his waist. "Can you hear me? Listen up, Merlin needs you. Do you understand? He's been waiting for you for all this time, helping people, saving lives, trying to spread your vision of Camelot to the entire globe. Well, now it's time we helped him. Are you listening?

"Are you listening to me? That poor man worships you, idolizes you, and loves you with all his heart. It's time for you to start doing something other than laying here waiting for the right time. The right time is **NOW!** MERLIN NEEDS YOU, ARTHUR!" Dan stood in the waist-deep water and the driving rain, barely able to stand against the wind. Taking a deep breath, Dan let loose one more scream with everything he could muster. **"ARTHUR FUCKING PENDRAGON, THE MAN YOU LOVE NEEDS YOU!"**

Dan stood in the water. His limbs were beginning to shake with cold and exhaustion. He waited for an answer, for some sign that he had been heard. He heard nothing but the storm. He saw nothing but the rain endlessly falling. Dan raised his face to the sky and let the rain wash it clean of his tears. He didn't know what else to do. He had been defeated. He didn't have magic; he didn't even have a soul. What was he supposed to do? He hung his head, rain and tears running into his mouth, and whispered, "Please. My father needs you."

A gust of wind blew up and knocked Dan completely off of his feet. He fell into the water. But he didn't hit bottom. He had been standing on the bottom a moment before, and the water had only been up to his waist, but now he kept falling and falling into deeper and deeper darkness until he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. His lungs burned for air…which, he knew, was ridiculous, since he didn't even have lungs. His body demanded to breathe all the same. When he finally gasped for air, he was surprised to receive fresh, sweet-scented air, not a mouthful of water.

Below him, Dan saw a bright pinpoint of white light. He sank further toward it until he got close enough to see that it was a woman, wearing flowing white robes and shining with brilliant radiance. He sank down in the water until he was eye-level with her and then stopped. He still couldn't feel anything beneath his feet; he just sank that far and no further. In the radiance of the woman's aura, Dan could see that her robes and long brown hair drifted around her like they were floating in water.

When she spoke, she didn't move her mouth, but her voice simply appeared in Dan's head like his own thoughts, but not in his voice. "Welcome," she said.

"Who are you?" Dan said, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer already. When he spoke, air bubbled up and out of his mouth and floated toward the distance surface even though his voice sounded perfectly normal.

The woman smiled. "I am Freya, of course. The Lady of the Lake, as I am sure your father has told you."

"He speaks very highly of you. He admired you a great deal."

Her expression turned wistful. "As I did him. But, that was not to be. Our destinies lay elsewhere."

"Yes," Dan was starting to feel angry all over again, "You became the lady of lake, guarding the sleeping Arthur for all eternity, while my father is condemned to wander forever alone, waiting for the return of a king who will never come."

Freya looked at him with sympathy evident in her eyes. "I am so sorry, for all three of you. If could help, I would, but I am forbidden from interfering. This is how it must be."

"All three of us?"

"Of course," she said, matter-of-factly. "Merlin, yourself, and Arthur."

She drifted to the side and another figure appeared behind her. Even if Dan hadn't seen him in the visions he had shared with Morgana and his father, he would have recognized Arthur. Merlin had told him about Arthur in such detail that it felt almost as if Dan already knew him. The sword Excalibur hung in its sheath at his side. He moved toward Dan, reaching out a hand, and touched Dan's cheek.

He said nothing, no words, but somehow he conveyed a sense of great love and great sorrow. It was nothing Dan was ever able to explain afterwards, but it was as if he could hear Arthur's emotions instead of his words.

"My father needs you," Dan implored Arthur. "Can't you come back to him?" The sense of sorrow from Arthur was overwhelming. He shook his head, causing his blonde hair to swirl around his head in the strange underwater environment. "He needs help," Dan was nearly begging. "He's all alone. Can you do anything?"

Arthur looked at Dan. Dan sensed pride and love, the same things that he had felt from Merlin before the spell was broken. "I can't help him," Dan protested. "He doesn't even want to be around me." Arthur continued look at Dan. The feeling of parental pride intensified until Dan began to feel uncomfortable. Arthur held out his hand; in his open palm lay a simple golden ring with a small red stone set into it. "That's the ring he gave you before you married Gwen, right?" Arthur nodded. "You still have it?" Arthur nodded, and stretched his hand toward Dan. "I should give the ring to Merlin?" Dan asked. Arthur didn't respond. Dan reached out and took the ring from Arthur's outstretched hand.

Arthur drifted back away from Dan, and Freya was back at Dan's side. She gently stroked Dan's hair. "I am so sorry that you must endure this," she said, "but you must be strong, to help your fathers."

"What—?" Dan tried to ask what she meant, but Freya cut him off short.

"Remember, when the time comes, you will not be alone."

"Wh—?" Before he could finish the word, his hand started to burn. The water around his hand began to boil, bubbles churning the water and forcing their way up to the surface. He screamed, releasing another cloud of bubbles to drift upwards. His head felt like someone was boring through his temple with a drill; his chest felt like someone was trying to break through it with a jackhammer. Dan opened his hand and revealed the ring lying in his palm glowing white hot. He tried to shake it off, but it stuck firm. The burning began to spread up his arm, through his whole body. Dan's head felt like it was being torn to pieces. Dan squeezed his eyes shut, face contorted in a silent scream of pain.


	20. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 – Present Day**

Connor drove like a madman, racing to Cabislayne to retrieve Mordred's sword for Morgana. Whatever storm Merlin had conjured up at Camelot was beginning to reach all the way to Cabislayne. Rain was falling hard and lightning flashed ominously in the clouds overhead. Connor drove through the village and up the gravel drive that led to Morgana's house. Leaping from his car, he pounded on the front door.

An elderly woman who must have been Lady Fanny opened the door. "Yes?"

"Are you Fanny?" Connor asked. "I have an urgent message from your daughter."

She studied him warily. "You have news from Morgan?" She sounded edgy and nervous. "What is it? Does she know what's happening?"

Connor shook his head, confused. "What do you mean? How do you know something's happening?"

Fanny stepped to one side and held the door open. "You'd best come in," she said. Connor followed her into a drawing room where several more people sat watching him. Connor didn't recognize any of them. "I'd introduce everyone," Fanny told him, "but names are a bit problematic at the moment. I think you and I are the only ones here with just one identity."

Connor gave her a confused look. "What do you mean?"

A white-haired old man got up from a couch and gave Connor a suspicious glare. "Well, I'm not quite certain whether I'm Jason or Gaius. About an hour ago, I started remembering things about my life hundreds of years ago in Camelot. The memories are still a bit muddled, but they're getting clearer by the minute."

Connor began to feel nervous. "You lived in Camelot?" he asked incredulously.

"We all did," Jason/Gaius told him. The other people in the room nodded.

"You said you had a message from Morgan," Fanny interjected. "Does she know what's happening here?"

"No," Connor said, "She just asked me to retrieve something of hers."

"I see," Fanny sighed. "Well, let's try to bring you up to speed. Everyone in this room, and most of the people in this village, are reincarnations of souls who lived in Arthur's Camelot. Until today, only four people had any knowledge of everyone's prior lives: Morgan, Merlin, Dan, and myself. Since this storm sprung up, people are beginning to remember who they used be."

The old man, Gaius, sat back down on the couch. "As soon as I realized what was happening, I tried to find Merlin. When I couldn't locate him, I came here hoping to confront Morgana, assuming this was her doing. One by one, others have been arriving, looking for Morgana."

"As I've been trying to tell you," Fanny sounded exasperated, "Morgan is not behind this. Unlike the rest of you, she recovered both her memories and her magical talents years ago. She's been nothing but kind to this town and its people. She only wants to make amends for the things she did back then."

"Fanny's right," Connor told them. "Morgana isn't the one doing this."

Next to Gaius, a middle-aged woman with long brown hair held tightly to the hand of the handsome man sitting with her. "Where is Merlin?" she sounded terribly worried. "Is my son…is he alright?"

"I'm not sure," Connor admitted. "I don't think so."

Merlin's mother gasped. Gaius' shoulders slumped and he put his head in his hands. "I was afraid of that."

A tall man with long brown hair was standing in a corner behind an oversized chair where two children sat together. He asked Connor, "What do you mean, you don't know if Merlin is alright?"

One of the children, a young girl with bronze skin, her black hair tied in two ponytails with pink ribbons, put a hand on the tall man's arm. "Hush, Gwaine," she told him, "Let Gaius finish."

The boy who sat next to the girl had dark eyes and thick, brown, curly hair. They both looked confused, afraid, and out of place with all the adults. He held the girl's hand tightly and said, "Gaius, what do you mean? What were you afraid of?"

"I suspect Connor's right about Morgana," Gaius answered. "Something's been bothering me about this situation. Look at us, Lancelot," Gaius pointed at everyone in turn as he named them. "Hunith, Balinor, Gwaine, Gwen, you, and me. Of all the people in Camelot, we are the ones with perhaps the greatest cause to want revenge on Morgana. Why would she want us to remember who we were?" Gaius asked. "So, what else could be causing this? What do we all have in common? Why is it that we are the ones remembering Camelot?"

Gwen didn't need any time to consider Gaius' question before she answered. The same thought had already occurred to her. "We were Merlin's closest friends."

Gaius nodded.

"So?" Gwaine held up his hands. "So we're all Merlin's friends. What does that have to do with anything? Morgana's the only one who could do something like this."

Hunith closed her eyes with a small whimper. Balinor held her close. Gaius laid a hand on his sister's shoulder. "No," he said simply, "She's not. You remember the sorcerer Emrys? The one who fought for Arthur at Camlann?"

Gwaine nodded. "Of course. We were losing the battle until he just showed up from nowhere and turned the tide."

"Yes," Gaius said, "that's the one. What you don't know is that Emrys is Merlin." Gaius turned to Connor. "I take it Merlin has also regained his memories."

"You don't know the half of it," Connor told him. "Here, maybe this can help explain." He pulled out his phone. Holding it out so everyone could see, he called up the video he had recorded earlier and pressed play. An image of Morgana appeared on the screen; in the background, the castle of Camelot crackled with radiant magical energy.

Morgana's voice came out of the speakers, tinny and hard to hear over the roar of the magical storm. "Fanny, something awful is happening at Camelot. Merlin is having some sort of psychotic break and…I don't know. I think he's trying to recreate his life in Camelot. Before he shut me out, he talked about rebuilding everything. At best, I might be able to contain this and keep it from hurting anyone. If there's any hope of helping him, I need to get into the castle. I know I swore I'd never touch it again, but I need the dragon's blade if I'm going to pierce through this storm. Get it for Connor; he'll bring it to me. I have to stay here and try to contain this."

The video ended, and Connor put the phone back in his pocket.

Gwaine cleared his throat. "That storm surrounding the castle, Merlin is doing that?" he asked incredulously.

Fanny stood up, her expression sober. "I'll go get the sword."

A few moments after Fanny had left, someone started pounding on the mansion's door. From outside, Connor heard someone shouting, "Morgana! You can't hide in there forever!"

Gwaine groaned. "That's Leon. He must be remembering, too. I'll try and explain things to him."

"Gaius," Gwen spoke softly. "My father was acting…oddly when I left the house to try and find Morgana. Merlin's friends may be the first people to remember their past lives, but I don't think we'll be the last."

When Gwaine returned to the room, he had not only Leon but also Perceval with him. Gwaine jerked a thumb in Perceval's direction. "This one showed up while I was trying to explain things to Leon."

"Things are getting dicey in the village," Perceval told them. "Some folk can't handle the memories and just pass out. They might be the lucky ones. Mort's shut himself up in the diner and won't come out. The crowd there got pretty nasty when someone recognized him as, quote, 'the druid dog who killed Arthur'."

Fanny returned carrying the sword, which she had wrapped in a blanket. "Morgan warned me never to touch it," she explained. "Just to be on the safe side. Ah, I see we have more guests. Hello Leon, Perceval."

"Madame," Leon inclined his head and looked puzzled. "I don't seem to remember you from Camelot."

"Of course you don't," Fanny told him. "I wasn't there, but Morgan has told me a great deal about all of you." Fanny gave the sword to Connor and stood there with her hands on her hips, looking at all of them. "Now, what are we going to do to help Morgan save Merlin?"

\- x - x - x - x - x -

Dan opened his mouth to scream in agony and, suddenly, it was over. The pain was gone. His head felt normal again. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. He was lying somewhere outside; it wasn't raining, wherever he was. Dan had no idea how much time had passed since he'd fallen into Avalon. He wasn't even sure what time of day it was because the sky was completely obscured. There were no clouds, no sign of the sun or moon, just a fantastical light display spiralling about the sky like water circling a drain. Looking around, Dan recognized the portable fencing that ran around the dig site, where they had been excavating Camelot. Instead of the dig site, though, the meadow was dominated by a milky white dome that stood taller than the highest trees. The dome appeared to be emanating from a circle that had been burned into the earth around the castle's perimeter. If Dan was any judge, it was a containment spell, meant to keep everything inside itself from getting out. Inside the dome, Dan could dimly see chaotic flashes of blue energy bursting against the interior surface. If he really concentrated, he thought he could see the shape of a castle deep within the maelstrom of energy.

Dan had no idea how he had got here. A moment ago, he had been underwater in Avalon, fiery pain searing through him. Now he was here. However he got here, he decided it didn't matter. Not far from the gate in the fence, Dan saw Morgana standing near the edge of the dome. Morgana was holding her hands in the air and swaying rhythmically from side to side. Dan ran toward her calling out, "Morgana! Morgana, what's going on?"

Morgana didn't answer, but Dan ran to her as fast as his legs would carry him. He saw now that Morgana was chanting, apparently maintaining a spell, probably the spell that created the dome, Dan assumed. The storm of energy pierced through from the inside of the dome and a bolt of crackling blue light arced wildly up into the sky. Morgana held out a hand toward the hole in the dome and said, "_Adfer_." The dome sealed itself, cutting off the beam of light.

"Morgana, what's going on?" Dan yelled.

"No time for explanations, Dan," she replied hoarsely. Her voice sounded tired and worn out from overuse. She must have been chanting for hours. Another beam of light pierced the dome and she quickly sealed it back up. "The rest of your questions will have to wait for later. How much do you know about this…whatever it is Merlin is doing?"

"Nothing."

Although Morgana had stopped chanting for the moment, she kept her attention focused on the dome. "Dan, I can barely keep this contained, much less stop it. There's nothing we can do." She looked tired and haggard, and she looked defeated. "The best thing you can do right now is to go back to Cabislayne and get everyone as far from town as possible."

"I need to talk to Merlin," Dan told her.

Morgana shook her head. "I can't even get through the outer walls of the castle, much less inside of the main keep."

"If I can just talk to him, I know I can get through to him," Dan insisted. "I have to at least try."

"Dan," Morgana protested, "it's simply not possible."

From the edge of the meadow, someone shouted out to them. "Would this be of any help?"

Dan spun around and saw Doctor Moore running toward them with several people behind him. Connor was holding out a long wrapped bundle. When Connor and the others drew near to Dan and Morgana, lightning began to crackle overhead. A bolt struck a tree near the edge of the meadow and left a twisted, scorched mess of wood. Another bolt hit the ground less than a hundred yards from where they stood. The resultant thunder nearly deafened Dan. Doctor Moore lifted a hand and said, "_Amddiffyn ni._" A wash of white light flowed out from where he stood and across the ground all the way to the edges of the meadow. Lightning continued to dance in the clouds above them, but it stopped striking the ground.

Dan gaped at him. "You have magic!?"

"I'm a druid," he told him. "My grandfather was the one who created you to help Emrys. I just balanced the electrical charge in the ground around us; it'll protect us from lightning strikes, at least for a while."

Dan looked at the people who were with Connor. He recognized Jason, Mayor Calvin, Percy, and Leon from the village.

Connor went up to Morgana. "My lady, the sword." He unwrapped the bundle and presented the hilt of the sword to her.

When Morgana took the blade from him, she noticed Connor's companions. "What are you doing here?" she asked nervously.

"I ran into them while I was retrieving the sword," Connor told her. "And more than just them, too. Gwen, Lancelot, Merlin's parents," he shook his head, "everyone's waking up, Morgana."

Morgana's eyes showed real fear for the first time. "Uther?"

Gaius stepped in front of the three knights to face Morgana. "Uther was ill-equipped to handle the intensity of his latent memories; he has lapsed into a coma." He studied Morgana intently and with more than a little suspicion. "What about you? Do you intend to help Merlin or harm him?"

"I'm trying to help him!" Morgana exclaimed. "I just want to bring him back to his senses and end all this."

Gaius watched silently, unsure whether or not to believe her.

Morgana implored her one-time friends, "More than anyone, I wish I could have a second chance to make things right and fix all the problems I caused, but I know that it doesn't work like that. I only want to stop my friend from doing something terrible.

After considering her words, Gaius nodded his head. "Then we are on the same side," he said. "At least for the moment."

"More and more people in Cabislayne are remembering their lives in Camelot," Leon told her. "It's only a matter of time until the whole village remembers. Not everyone is able to cope with it; it must be stopped.

"Merlin is our friend," Gwaine said. "Until he is safe, until Cabislayne is safe, we'll help you however we can."

Morgana couldn't help but notice that he said nothing about what they intended to do after Merlin was safe. She took a breath and squared her shoulders; she had always known she might have to pay for the deeds of her past life. If the time had come, she would face it with dignity.

Gwaine looked at Dan. "Who are you?" he asked. "You're not Merlin's cousin, I know that."

"I'm his son," Dan said tartly.

Surprised, Gwaine exclaimed, "His son?"

"Long story," Dan said. "The point is, I have the best chance of anyone here to get through to Merlin." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Morgana. "If you won't help me find my way into Camelot, I'll figure out how to get in on my own, but I'm going to get in there."

"Dan," Morgana looked at Dan for the first time since he'd arrived, preparing to talk him out of his plan. However, when she saw him, her expression turned to surprised shock and then to disbelief. "Dan?" Her lips curved upward in a tiny smile as she allowed herself the barest glimmer of hope.

The dome failed in several spots at once, but Connor was able to repair them with a few quick words. "We need you to focus, Morgana" he chided her.

Morgana, still not quite believing her eyes, reached a decision and nodded to herself. "Dan, I'm going to try to open a path for you into Camelot. I won't be able to go in with you," she looked to the three knights. "There's no telling what he'll face in there. He could use a few protectors."

Leon smiled at Dan. "If I had a blade to pledge to you, it would be yours. As it is," he held up his fists with a fierce gleam in his eye, "I pledge whatever protection I can offer."

"With or without our swords," Gwaine said, "We're still knights. You have our word that we will do everything in our power to get you to your father."

"Thank you," Dan said. "I'll take whatever help I can get."

Morgana held up a hand. "Still, it seems a shame to send you in without your blades." She reached down and picked up a large handful of mud. "_Rhoi hyn cleddyfau dynion._" The mud in her hand began to twist and expand, splitting into three pieces which elongated and transformed into three shining metal swords. The knights took the swords from Morgana with a nod of thanks.

"We can't afford to breach the containment spell twice," Morgana told them. "You won't be able to get out again."

"I understand," Dan said.

"Where he goes, we go," Perceval replied.

"My lady," Connor protested, "I'm not sure this is wise. Surely you should be the one to face Emrys. You're the only one who can possibly stand against him."

Morgana silenced him with a wave of her hand and a smile. She looked at Dan again, saying, "Today seems to be a day for miracles, Connor. Get ready, Dan. I don't know when your opening is going to come or how long it will last. Connor, do what you can to keep the containment spell intact until I'm done." She closed her eyes and bowed her head, holding a hand to her temples, trying to calm herself and find her mental centre. She almost looked like she might be praying. "Alright," she said after several seconds. Morgana held out the dragon-forged blade with both hands and a large hole opened in dome right at ground level. Through the crackling, chaotic storm, Dan could dimly see a gate in a stone wall."

Without the barrier of the containment spell, the swirling storm of blue energy was so bright that Dan could barely look at it. Connor and Morgana must still have been containing it somehow because the energy didn't erupt from the hole like it did wherever else the dome failed. Morgana started to cast a spell, "_Yr wyf yn gor—_" A crackling discharge of energy shot out of the hole so close to Morgana's head that Dan could smell burnt hair. Morgana tried again. "_Yr wyf—_" Again she was interrupted by a blast of energy that nearly hit her.

Morgana stared into the gap in dome. Dan could see she was beginning to get worried. Doubt flickered in her eyes. Maybe she couldn't do this. What was her strength compared Emrys' thousands of years of experience. Dan wasn't the only one who noticed her confidence flagging. Gaius stepped up beside her and laid a hand on her arm. Morgana looked at the man she had practically thought of as another father. His eyes bored into hers. He squeezed her arm and said, "For Merlin." They nodded together.

Morgana flexed her hands, cracking numerous joints in her fingers. Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips in an expression that clearly said, 'All right, if that's how you want it.' Through clenched teeth, she said, "Screw this." Pulling herself to her full height, she held the sword up high in the air with one hand and pointed imperiously at the castle gate with the other. "I am Morgana Pendragon, sole remaining high priestess of the old religion." She stood tall and proud, ignoring the energy crackling in the air around her and the wind that whipped her hair about her face. Her voice carried all the authority of both a royal princess and a high priestess; she spoke clearly and without faltering.

Morgana continued. "I call on all the high priestesses who preceded me; I call on all the priests and priestesses whose souls have found peace beyond the veil. I failed as your leader. I allowed myself to be corrupted by power and greed. I allowed myself to be blinded by anger and hatred. Alone out of all of us, Emrys had the courage to stand against me, to stand for what he knew to be right and just! I ask you…no, I beg you for one more chance to be the leader I should have been. Lend me your strength! For magic, for humanity, for Emrys, lend me your strength that I might save the one who saved us all! LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH! **FOR EMRYS!**"

A bolt of lightning charged down from the sky and struck the sword Morgana held upraised. The dragon-forged blade in Morgana's hand erupted into flames. There wouldn't be a second chance at this, she knew; the blade was finally going to be destroyed for good. The lightning was no natural force. It continued to arc between the blade and the clouds above long after the initial strike. Morgana groaned as electricity raced down her arm. The sword in her hand burned hotter and brighter until it exploded into a ball of fire. The fire erupted into the air, racing away from them just for a moment, before it was suddenly pulled back and absorbed into Morgana's upraised hand. Morgana opened her other hand with a triumphant cry. Golden lightning shot out of her open palm, and struck Camelot's gate. A wave of force erupted away from Morgana. Just standing next to her, Dan could feel it like a punch to the gut. The ground in front of Morgana was torn up in a line leading straight to the castle gate. The energy storm surrounding Camelot was blown clear. The gate was blasted off of its hinges. Everyone stared at Morgana, slack-jawed. "Dan!" She screamed. "Now! Go now!"

"Right!" Dan said. He ran through the gap in the dome, through the path Morgana had cleared, and ran for the open gate with all his might. Gwaine, Perceval, and Leon were close behind him. The storm was already starting to close in around them again. He saw the gate ahead of him was back on its hinges and starting to swing shut. Lowering his head, Dan charged the gate, legs pumping up and down until they burned, and leapt between the closing doors. They slammed shut behind him just as the last of them got through.

Just before the gate closed, Dan heard Morgana call out behind them. "Arthur's room, Dan! He was in Arthur's room!"

Dan lay on the ground, panting to catch his breath. He lifted his head and looked around him. He was laying on flagstones in a large courtyard, surrounded on all sides by either walls or buildings. There were many exits, up stairs, through doors, and through arches, and a balcony ran above him along one side of the wall. The largest door, other than the gate through which he had entered, was an ornate wood and wrought iron affair directly across from him and up a flight of stairs. Dan stood up.

Inside the castle wall, it was eerily quiet. It wasn't simply that Dan could no longer hear the energy storm outside or the howling wind. Even his own footsteps on the flagstone sounded flat and muffled and a long way off. He clapped his sounds experimentally; the clap sounded strange, a tinny echo of an actual sound. His three companions looked at him expectantly.

Dan saw Gwaine's lips move, but he didn't hear Gwaine's words. A moment after Gwaine had stopped talking, the sound finally reached his ears, low and drawn out comically slow. "We're with you." Dan nodded and moved to the stairs that led up to the large door. It took him much longer than he thought it should have to reach the stairs. He couldn't make his legs move as fast as he normally could. He didn't feel any resistance; he just couldn't move at his normal pace.

Everything was much the same inside the castle. Sounds were strangely insulated. Movements were slow and prolonged. No one said anything, mostly because speech was so difficult in this strange time-warped place. As the four of them made their way through empty halls and corridors, Dan began to think they would face no opposition getting to Merlin. He should have known better.

They turned the last corner that would take them to Arthur's room. Half-a-dozen stone statues stood in a ring outside Arthur's door. When Dan approached, they turned their heads in unison to look at him. Dan felt a hand on his shoulder and allowed Gwaine to pull him back so the three knights stood between Dan and the statues.

Gwaine and the others raised their blades. The statues did the same. In perfect unison, the statues began to march toward the knights. Fortunately, the statues were either naturally slow, or they suffered the strange time-warping effects just as much as Dan and the knights did. On an unspoken cue, all three men leapt forward to meet the stone men in combat. The stone statues were no match for three knights of Camelot. They were outclassed in every way except one: They couldn't die. The knights sliced and slashed and stabbed, but steel swords had no effect on rock bodies. The stone soldiers fought tirelessly and relentlessly. They only needed to score one lucky hit, and their opponents would fall. The knights' luck couldn't hold forever.

Dan watched helplessly as the battle raged before him. The fight blocked the corridor, so he couldn't even try to sneak around to get into Arthur's room. The knights' task was made even more difficult because they could barely speak to each other; or so Dan thought. Men who have stood by each other in countless battles, men who know each other as well as these men, don't need speech to understand each other. Leon began trying to corral their opponents and force them back down the hallway. Gwaine and Perceval soon saw what he was doing and matched their strategies to his.

Instead of trying to slay the statues, the knights began to push them back, little by little, until they had them backed up against a railing. Behind the railing was a very long drop to the stone floor below. Gwaine kicked out at one of the statues and sent it over the railing. It fell down onto the floor below and broke into dozens of pieces. None of the pieces moved. Leon ducked beneath the swing of a blade and grabbed a foot, pulling it up and tipping another statue over the edge. Perceval simply picked up one of the statues and threw it over. Soon all the stone soldiers lay in pieces on the floor below.

Leon turned to Dan and pointed to Arthur's door. Dan didn't need to wait to hear Leon's shout to know what was said. The sound reached his ears just as he reached the door to Arthur's room. "Go!" He wrenched on the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. The knights rejoined him and threw their shoulders against the door, but the door remained solidly shut. The four companions looked at each other, each hoping someone would have an idea what they ought to try next. The knights began looking about for something solid and heavy enough to use to beat down the door. Dan knew it wouldn't help, though. If Merlin was the one keeping the door shut, a simple battering ram would never be enough to break it down.

Dan watched the knights searching and frowned. He felt something strange in his pocket, a weight that hadn't been there before and seemed to be growing heavier by the second. Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a golden ring. Dan recognized it immediately as the ring Arthur had given to him in Avalon. He hadn't realized he still had it. Dan slipped it onto his right hand; it fit perfectly on his index finger. Dan went back to the door one more time. Tentatively, he reached out and set his hand against the wooden surface of the door. He felt a soft hum from the ring on his finger and the door's handle turned of its own accord. With a gentle push, the door swung open.

Dan stepped into the room and the door slammed closed behind him, shutting out the knights. Dan alone was allowed entry, it seemed. Movement returned to normal. If Dan had clapped his hands again, he would have found they sounded quite normal as well. He hardly noticed the changes. All of his attention was riveted on Merlin.


	21. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 – Present Day**

Dan had seen his father adopt many different ages. Sometimes, Merlin would change his apparent age as often as Dan changed his clothes. Dan had seen Merlin as a young man, a centenarian, and everything in between. Once Dan had even seen his father adopt the appearance of a mere child. Never, in all their time together, had he ever seen anything like the man who stood in Arthur's bedroom. Merlin had given up any façade of youth, abandoning his attempts to disguise the ravages time had inflicted on his body. Merlin looked every inch of his fifteen hundred years. His skin, sallow and grey, hung loose off of his bones like rags. His beard had grown long and ragged down almost to his feet; his scalp was completely hairless and mottled with liver spots.

Merlin stood with his back to Dan. His entire body trembled, barely able to stand. He clutched at one of the corner posts of Arthur's bed with a skeletal hand, nails grown out to talon-like proportions. Through the windows, Dan could see the swirling vortices of energy spinning around the castle, but inside the room everything was calm and peaceful. He took another step into the room and asked, "Merlin?"

Merlin turned to face the new presence in the room. He turned his head a fraction of an inch before stopping, apparently too stiff to turn any further. Slowly he began to shuffle his feet and turn around so he could see who it was. Dan gasped when Merlin's face was finally revealed. The skin clung to his skull like badly fitted shrink wrap. When Merlin moved his jaw, Dan could see the jawbone moving up and down under the loose skin. His eyes were so deeply sunken and so clouded that Dan had trouble believing Merlin could see anything at all. Apparently, they worked well enough, because Merlin recognized the man he had once called 'son.'

"Why…are you…here?" he wheezed, exposing teeth black with rot and age. Dan stared at his father, unable to believe that this was the same man who had been young and vital only last night. Merlin waved at Dan dismissively. A chair flew through the air toward Dan. If Dan hadn't ducked it would probably have sent him reeling out of the room. As it was, the chair shattered on the wall next to him, throwing splinters in all directions. Dan winced at the splinters which struck his face and upraised arm. "Hardly matters," Merlin rasped in a voice that sounded like two sheets of paper rubbing together punctuated by heavy, wheezing breaths. "Soon enough…you won't ever…have been." Merlin was interrupted by a paroxysm of coughing so severe Dan was afraid his aged father would literally cough up a lung.

Dan snapped out of his shock. "What do you think you're doing? This storm you've summoned, it's enough power to sink half of England."

"England? Albion?" Merlin chortled, spraying spittle into the air. "Just the start." He rolled a hand in the air, finger extended, tracing a wobbly circle over and over again. "Rewind the clock. Go back in time. Back to before Arthur died. Do it again. Do it better. Make things right…this time. Wipe the slate clean. Rebuild…everything…the whole world."

"That's not possible." Dan wasn't honestly sure what was possible any more. "That can't be possible."

"Not possible," agreed Merlin. "Except here." He gestured weakly, indistinctly at the room around them. "Camelot, heh. Uther had no idea. The power in this place…anything is possible. Everything is possible. The witch can't stop me for long."

"You mean Morgana?" Dan asked.

"_Don't!_" Merlin shrieked wildly. "Don't…say her name! She's trying to stop me." He closed his eyes and held out his hands, sensing something invisible to Dan. "She's out there now…holding me back. Heh-heh-heh." He cackled. "Not for much longer. I've made sure of it."

That made Dan worried. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm waking up all my friends…everyone's remembering." He looked out the window, staring through the barrier Morgana had erected around the castle. "They'll destroy her," he said coldly.

"No, they won't," Dan told him. "They're working together, helping each other to save you."

"For now, maybe. Give them time."

"You can't just erase the last fifteen centuries!" Dan shouted. "You'll be murdering billions of innocent people, wiping them from existence. _Billions_ of people! You have no right!"

"Not murdering," Merlin argued. "They'll just…" he shrugged, "never have been. And…in time…most of them will be back."

"They're alive now; when you finish this, they won't be alive," Dan glared at his father. "That's murder, however you look at it. What gives you the right to make that choice?"

"Arthur," Merlin said simply. "The world needs him."

"No!" Dan shouted. "YOU need him! You want him. The world is managing just fine without him; you know that better than anyone. You've made it your mission to make sure the ideals Arthur championed survive until he returns. How can you throw that away?"

Merlin shook his head. "Not true. The world needs him…at any cost."

Dan gaped, open-mouthed, unable to believe what Merlin was saying. "Do you hear yourself? You're saying that the end justifies the means? You've told me more times than I can count that the darkest deeds throughout history always start when someone decides that a worthy goal justifies any method used to obtain it." Merlin ignored him, but Dan could tell he'd struck a nerve. "You think you're making Arthur's dream a reality by doing this? Arthur's dream wasn't a kingdom built on the ashes of death and destruction. Ask yourself, would Arthur have condoned the destruction of an entire world?" That seemed to give Merlin pause. Dan pushed on. "You're making a mockery of everything Arthur believed in." Merlin stared hard at Dan but still said nothing. Dan drove his point home. "This is unworthy of the man Arthur loved."

Merlin put his hands to his ears and howled in outrage. The storm outside seemed to pound more furiously in response. A chest that had been sitting by a far wall flew through the air toward Dan. Dan dodged, but he wasn't quite fast enough. The corner of the heavy wooden chest clipped his arm. Dan groaned at the pain that shot through his arm. He figured it was probably fractured, if not broken. Assuming, of course, that he had bones to break. He wasn't really sure.

Merlin shook his head, "Too many mistakes," he argued. "Got to try again."

Dan gripped his arm where the chest had hit it and tried to ignore the pain. "You don't get to just erase your mistakes, Merlin," he had to get his father to understand. "They're part of you, the good things and the bad. Mistakes keep us grounded, they remind us we're not all-knowing. Suppose this actually works, you go back in time, and, somehow, you keep Arthur from dying." Dan pulled Arthur's ring off of his finger, wincing as he did so; the motion send fresh twinges of pain dancing up his arm. He held the ring out to Merlin with a shaky hand. "I promise you, if Arthur ever learns the price you paid to save him, it will destroy everything you have with him."

Clutching at the post of Arthur's bed for support, Merlin stared at the ring. "So many mistakes." He didn't sound very sure of himself. He reached out for the ring. "I can fix them." He took the ring from Dan's hand, closing his fist around it and holding it to his chest. A warm golden light filled the room, and Dan almost jumped out of his skin when another voice suddenly spoke.

"Merlin, you know this is wrong." Arthur appeared beside Merlin, laying a hand on Merlin's shoulder. He wore a loose-fitting poet's blouse and tight leather breeches.

Dan remembered the last thing Freya had said to him beneath the waters of Avalon: "When the time comes, you will not be alone."

Merlin's entire demeanour changed at the sight of Arthur. As he reached a hand toward his love, the talon-like fingernails shrank back into his fingers, muscle and sinew began to fill out the rag-like grey skin. "Arthur," he almost sighed the name. "Arthur, you've come back!"

Arthur took Merlin's withered hand in his and patted it gently. "No, my love. Not yet."

Merlin looked confused. "But…you're here."

"Only for a little while," Arthur said sadly. He opened Merlin's hand to expose the ring Merlin was clutching. "Dan's courage, this ring, our love, this time, this place," he shook his head, "don't ask me how it all works, but somehow it lets me see you again…for a little while."

"You have to stay," Merlin's lower lip quivered. "I can't keep going alone."

Arthur, tears in his eyes, took Merlin's face in his hands. "Nor should you. It breaks my heart to see you trying to bear the weight of the world by yourself. Surely Brand proved to you that it's better to share the love in your heart than to hide it away from everyone."

Merlin hung his head, unable to look at Arthur. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been with Brand. I should have been stronger. I should have waited for you."

"No! Merlin, how can you think I would be so selfish? Do you really think I expect you to be alone forever, just waiting for me to come back?" Arthur lifted Merlin's chin so he could see his eyes. "Or are you just afraid to let anyone else into your heart?"

"People die!" Merlin shrieked. "People always die! They always leave me!"

"I know, love," Arthur took him in his arms. "I know."

"I can fix it," Merlin murmured quietly.

"Yes, so you said," Arthur spoke very matter-of-factly. "Tell me, which mistakes would you fix? What about the first time we met? You called the prince of Camelot an ass and tried to punch me." He smiled fondly. "As mistakes go, that's up there. Would you fix that? Can you predict how it would change things between us if you do?"

Arthur snapped his fingers. "Oh, I know: You would have me marry someone else." Merlin stared at him in horror. "Gwen was really a poor choice," Arthur said. "A more political marriage would have strengthened Camelot's position and left me better-protected. Of course, we'd hardly be able to continue seeing each other, but at least I'd be alive."

"Please, Arthur, stop," Merlin begged.

"What about Mordred?" asked Arthur. "Would you stop us from freeing him when he was just a boy? Would you let my father execute an innocent child? How do you think I would feel about you if you stopped me from saving him? Don't you understand, love? The things you think are mistakes are the things that brought us together. I know you must remember how difficult it was for us to admit our feelings for each other. Even little changes might keep that from ever happening."

"So…so I can do nothing?" Merlin seemed on the verge of hysteria again.

Arthur held Merlin tightly. "It's too much to bear alone, I know." He looked Merlin in the eye. "You shouldn't have to live alone, Merlin. You deserve more."

"I love you," Merlin protested. "I don't _want_ more."

"You _need_ more, my love. That's why I've made sure you don't have to go on alone anymore." Arthur took Merlin's shoulders and turned him to face Dan.

"An artificial son?" The disgust in Merlin's voice cut Dan more deeply than any physical wound. Merlin turned away from Dan. "Arthur—"

"Look at your son, Merlin!" Arthur's voice was sharp, commanding, he forced Merlin to face Dan again. "Really look at him." More gently, he repeated, "Look at your son. Look at _our_ son."

Merlin studied Dan more closely. He tipped his head to one side and slowly, wondrously, said. "Dan…your face…you're bleeding."

"What?" Dan's face still stung where it had been pierced by shards of wood when Merlin had thrown a chair against the wall. Dan put a hand to his face where the splinters had pierced his skin. He pulled his fingers away and saw pure, red blood staining his fingertips. "What!? But I can't bleed. I don't have blood."

Arthur softly said, "Merlin, his arm." Merlin and Dan both looked at Dan's arm where it had been struck by the chest. A large, red bruise was beginning to blossom on the arm, already shading to purple in places.

"How is this possible?" Merlin asked. He studied Dan. Dan looked almost the same as he always had, but, there were little differences. Or, maybe, Merlin was just noticing things he had never seen before. Dan's sandy brown hair, a perfect fusion of Arthur's blonde and Merlin's dark brunette. Arthur's nose. Merlin's ears. Arthur's square face blended with Merlin's aquiline features. He looked deep into Dan's eyes, hazel no longer, now the same clear bright blue as Arthur's eyes. As Dan watched, Merlin's body began to fill out, regain muscle tone and a healthy glow. Soon he looked the same age as Dan and Arthur. He murmured, almost to himself, "You're not empty anymore."

Dan frowned. "What do you mean?"

Arthur smiled. "I think what he means, Dan, is that you have a soul."

It was too much for Dan to take in all at once. Dumbfounded, he managed to ask, "How?"

Arthur shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," Merlin's expression turned to one of concern.

"I can't really take the credit," Arthur admitted. "Freya's the one who made it happen, and she couldn't have done it if Dan hadn't made the journey to Avalon by himself."

"Magic can't make a life, Arthur!" Merlin sounded panicked. "It takes a life to make a life. Who had to die for this to happen?"

"No one," Arthur shook his head and his smile grew even bigger, "You're wrong about the nature of a life. Magic has always had it wrong. There's no need to sacrifice one soul to make another…not if you start with two souls. How is any soul born?" he asked. "Children are born from two parents; it takes two souls to make one." Arthur slid an arm around Merlin's waist and drew him close. "There is a bond of love between you and me that can't be broken by time or distance or death. Just because you love others, that doesn't mean you stop loving me. Freya made Dan into the living expression of our love: Our son, as real and as human as you and me, born of a love that's endured lifetimes. He is my blood, but, more importantly, he is your blood. Your blood, my love: The immortal blood of Emrys."

Merlin reached out to touch Dan's face, scarcely able to believe he was real. "Are you saying that he'll be like me? He…he won't die?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur admitted. "But there's only one way to find out," he told Merlin gently.

"Dan," Merlin smiled, tears still brimming in his eyes but no longer tears of sadness. "Dan, my son." He said the words slowly, testing them for the first time. "My son."

Dan gripped Merlin's hand and laughed through tears of his own. "Dad." He looked from Merlin to Arthur. "My fathers."

Merlin rested his hand against Dan's cheek where it was bleeding. Softly he murmured, _"Adfer y cnawd._" Dan watched the golden light flare in his father's eyes and felt a tingle on his face and in his arm where his wounds healed. Merlin pulled Dan into a tight embrace, clinging tightly to his son. "Dan!"

Merlin gazed into Dan's eyes. "I can't change this," he said softly, "Can I?" He looked up at Arthur. "I can't save you and keep Dan." Arthur quietly shook his head. Merlin closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. "I know I should stop this," he shook his head, "but it's hard. I want you back. When are you coming back?"

"You know when," Arthur told him.

"When Albion's need is greatest," Merlin answered his own question. "I'm trying to destroy the world, here," he half-smiled, "Doesn't that count?" he asked plaintively.

Tenderly Arthur replied, "You are many things, my love, but not the cause of my kingdom's darkest hour."

Merlin sighed heavily and held out his hands. The magical energy swirling outside the window began to fade away. As the energy dissipated, Dan experienced the strangest sensation. It was like the castle around him was inhaling deeply, taking in a huge breath. Then it let out the breath. Thunder crashed overhead and the storm returned with full force.

"Um, Merlin," Arthur cleared his throat, "There's still a spellstorm of epic scale raging out there," he jerked his head toward the window.

"It's not Merlin," Dan said. "It's Camelot."

Arthur and Merlin both stared at Dan, surprised. "You felt that?" Merlin asked.

Dan nodded. "Merlin was trying to stop the spell, but the castle kept it going."

Merlin frowned and closed his eyes in concentration. "Let me try again." Again, Dan had a feeling that the castle was alive and fighting against them, but Merlin wouldn't stop. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and his hair started going grey as he battled for dominance over the magical energies flowing through Camelot.

Dan stepped up beside Merlin. He took one of Merlin's hands in his own and focused the way Merlin had tried to teach him before. He felt the energy flowing around them, he could see it in his mind's eye. Within himself, Dan could feel his own connection to the power of magic. He opened himself to the power and let it flow through him into Merlin. The sensation was indescribable. For an instant, Dan felt like he was connected to everything. He felt the life energy running through the earth, in the air, in Merlin and Arthur; he was part of it all and it was part of him. He could change it just by thinking, as easily as he could command his arm to move or his eyes to blink.

Almost as soon as it had started, it was over. Dan had given Merlin the extra help he needed. The storm outside was gone; sunshine streamed in through the windows. Dan blinked in surprise at finding himself disconnected from the incredible power. Even as he thought about it, he found it difficult to remember what he had experienced. Merlin was watching Dan with a knowing look. "Your mind wasn't made to hang on to memories like that," he said. "It's too much to fit into one mind."

"What was that?" Dan asked breathlessly.

"That, son, was magic," replied Merlin.

"I guess we know whose side of the family he takes after," Arthur remarked proudly. He put his arms around both of them. He kissed the top of Dan's head and then Merlin's. Merlin looked up, and Arthur tenderly kissed his lips. "I miss you so much," he told Merlin, "But I'm so proud of you." He softly stroked Merlin's cheek. "I love you."

Merlin looked up into Arthur's eyes. "And I, you."

Arthur kissed Merlin's forehead and stepped away from them. The aura of warm light around him was growing brighter. "Dan, take care of your father. Remind him to get out of himself." Dan nodded. Arthur turned his gaze to Merlin. "Say hello to Morgana for me, won't you? Tell her…tell her I forgive her. And Merlin," Arthur gave a bittersweet sigh, "My sweet Merlin, if love comes knocking at your heart's door, don't be afraid to let it in." A bright sunbeam shone through the window and Arthur dissolved into golden light.

Dan and Merlin stood alone in the room. "Well, son," Merlin couldn't help an involuntary smile when he called Dan 'son.' "Shall we go find Morgana?" Dan nodded. Together they left the room. Gwaine, Perceval, and Leon stood waiting outside.

"Merlin," Gwaine smiled kindly. "It's so good to see you."

"And you, my friend," Merlin replied. He looked at each of the knights. "Thank you for protecting my son."

"It was our honour," Gwaine assured him.

Perceval looked closely at Merlin. "Is the threat ended?" Merlin nodded.

"What about Cabislayne?" Leon asked. "We've got a village full of reawakened souls."

"No," Merlin shook his head. "It won't last. I didn't finish the spell. Your memories will fade shortly."

"All of them?" Gwaine looked disappointed. "Will we remember any of this?"

Perceval looked around the hall of the castle. "Any of what?" he replied. "Where are we?" He sounded confused. "Why do I have a sword?"

"I'm sorry," Merlin told Gwaine. "Truly. It's selfish of me, but I wish you could remember." He shrugged. "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way."

"I understand," Gwaine said. Then he surprised Merlin by dropping to one knee and bowing his head. "It was a privilege to be of service to my king's beloved, even if only briefly."

Leon was starting to look disoriented. "Your king?" he said. "What king?"

"Your king's beloved?" Merlin smiled, "You knew about us?"

"Of course I knew," Gwaine confirmed. "You and Arthur weren't as subtle as you thought you were on those long trips away from Camelot. Besides, how could I miss the way you two looked at each other? It was good to see both of you so happy." He stood up and held his sword to his chest in salute. "Until we meet again." He put a hand to his head and dropped his sword. The dropped sword dissolved into little lumps of mud on the stone floor as did the other two blades. Gwaine's face turned into an expression of puzzlement. "Where are we?"

"We're at the dig site, Mayor Calvin," Merlin told him. "Don't you remember? Lady Morgan arranged a tour for you and your friends. She's waiting for us outside."

"Oh," Calvin still sounded confused, but reassured. "Well, let's not keep her waiting." Calvin began making his way back out to the meadow, accompanied by Percy and Leon. Merlin and Dan followed at a distance.

"You know," Merlin mused, "as Arthur's son, you are, technically, the rightful king of Britain."

Dan grinned. "Great, I'll just call the queen and let her know. 'Thanks for keeping the seat warm, Lizzy, but I'll be taking over from here.'" He laughed. "Yeah, I think I'll let Her Majesty keep the job for now." The five of them emerged from the castle and blinked in the bright sunlight. The sky had returned to its normal blue, dotted here and there by fluffy clouds. The sun was just rising over the tops of the trees around the edge of the meadow.

Morgana and Connor were talking with Calvin and the others. As soon as she saw them, Morgana ran to meet them. "Merlin! Dan!" Her smile was radiant and infectious. She wrapped her arms around both of them. "I'm so glad you're alright. Both of you," she added, tousling Dan's hair with her hand. She studied Dan the way she had when she first saw him outside the castle. "Now that death and destruction aren't looming imminent, you really must tell me how you came into possession of a shiny new soul which feels so much like Emrys."

"We will explain," Merlin told her, "I promise. But, perhaps, tomorrow, back in Cabislayne? It has been a trying night, and I think we all need some rest."

"Tomorrow?" Morgana looked appalled. "Tomorrow!? You can't possibly expect me to wait until tomorrow!"

"Please, Morgana," Merlin gripped her shoulder. "I feel like I need to sleep for a week straight."

"But what were you doing? Is it over? Are we safe now?" She looked to Dan. "How were you able to stop him? Did you—"

Dan cut her off, saying, "We're safe. We're safe, and you have nothing to fear from Merlin."

"How?" Morgana insisted.

"I had a little help," Dan told her, "and we have a message for you, from my father."

Morgana looked at Merlin. "Yes?"

Dan shook his head. "No, my _other_ father." Saying it out loud made Dan smile proudly. He couldn't help it.

"Other father?" Morgana looked confused.

"Your brother," Merlin said quietly. Morgana gasped and put a hand over her heart. Merlin put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Morgana, he forgives you."

Morgana tried to say something, but she couldn't get the words out. Her relief and her joy were palpable when she did manage to speak. "Thank you," she smiled radiantly. "Thank you both so much."

"Why don't you come by our place tomorrow morning?" Merlin nodded to Connor who had come up behind Morgana. "Why don't both of you come? I'll explain everything. I promise."

\- x - x - x - x - x -

The next morning, I was sitting with Dan on the sofa in our living room, wrapping up my story of yesterday's events. We had served tea earlier, but all of our cups were sitting empty now. Morgana and Connor were there, as was Fanny, who had absolutely insisted that Morgana was not going to leave her out of this. If anything, Fanny seemed a little disappointed that she had missed all the excitement last night. Not that she hadn't kept herself busy yesterday. Fanny, Guinevere, Lancelot, and my parents had managed to keep all hell from breaking loose in Cabislayne as more and more people began to remember Camelot. After the spell passed and everybody forgot again, the village of Cabislayne seemed perfectly happy to pretend that the last two days had never happened. Everybody returned to their homes, a bit confused and dazed, but none the worse for wear.

Connor leaned back in his chair. "How on earth are we going to explain the castle suddenly surfacing like that?"

"I suppose I could put it back underground," I said. "The storm seems to have kept everyone away for a while, so I don't think anyone has seen it yet, except Gaius and the three knights."

"Merlin Ambrose, don't you dare!" Fanny looked alarmed. "Now that we have Camelot back, you're certainly not going to put it away again."

Morgana spoke up. "I'm sure that between the three of us, Merlin, Connor, and I can manage some sort of confusion spell on a large enough scale to make sure nobody realizes anything is out of the ordinary."

"Hey," Dan objected, "Don't forget about me."

"Of course," Morgana agreed, "It would be good experience for you."

"Thank you," Dan grinned. "Here," he added, "Why don't I take care of all these empty cups?" With a wave of his hand, the cups, spoons, and saucers lifted up from where they sat. Dan's eyes sparkled with golden light and the dishes drifted into the kitchen, where they gently set themselves down in the sink. I watched him proudly; he was learning to control his new-found power very quickly.

Fanny stared at Dan. "I can't believe you weren't human. I really had no idea."

"My grandfather was very talented," Connor told her, with more than a little pride.

"And very wise," I added. "Had he not thought to prepare Morgana, none of us would be sitting here now."

"Now, that bothers me," Fanny objected. "If it wasn't for Morgan, you would never have learned the truth about Dan in the first place. If Connor's grandfather hadn't sent Connor with that sword, you and Dan might have gone on forever not knowing the truth."

Morgana shook her head. "No spell lasts forever, Fanny."

"I don't know," I mused thoughtfully. "What do suppose the chances were that both you, Connor, Dan, and I would all be in the same place right at the exact moment the spell failed? The discovery of Camelot brought all four of us together, right when we needed to be here most, so close to Avalon…"

Dan spun the ring around the index finger of his hand. The stone I had made so long ago still glittered as brightly as it had on the night that I first gave it to Arthur. "What are you saying, Dad? You think Falco foresaw all of this?"

I shrugged and smiled. "I don't know…but it's fun to ponder."

Further pondering was cut short by the sound of the doorbell. I frowned. "That's odd; we weren't expecting anyone else." I got up and went to answer the door. I was so astonished to see the young man standing on my doorstop, I couldn't even say 'hello.'

"Hi," he said. After an awkward pause waiting for me to speak, he went on. "Um, sorry, I'm earlier than I was supposed to be, but I forgot my key. I wanted to catch you before you left." He was wearing white jeans and a light yellow button-up shirt which he had left open over a red-and-yellow-striped tanktop. It wasn't a combination I would ever have expected to work, but somehow he made it look stunning. He blinked his warm brown eyes, and I realized I had been staring without saying anything for too long. "Uh," he said, "Do I have something in my teeth?"

I smiled with happy disbelief. "Brand," I murmured.

"Brandon, actually," he corrected me. "Brandon Morrison. This is my parents' house." He gave me a look, strange but not unpleasant. "Brand's okay, though," he added thoughtfully, "if you like."

I stepped back and held the door open. "I'm Merlin," I told him. "If you'll come in, I'll introduce you to everybody else.

I brought Brandon into the living room. Fanny jumped up when saw him. "Oh, my heavens," she exclaimed, "In all the excitement, I completely forgot to tell you. Brandon's returning early from a trip abroad. He'll be needing the house back, I'm afraid. We'll need to find you and Dan another place to stay."

Morgana waved a hand airily. "There's plenty of room for them to stay with us."

Brandon looked at Dan and I apologetically, "Sorry," he said. "I really didn't mean to turn you out like this."

"It's no trouble, really," Dan assured him. "This was only supposed to be a short-term rental for us anyway. Merlin and I will be more than happy staying with Morgan and Fanny."

Connor was staring at Brandon in mute shock. I guess it would be a bit unexpected to suddenly be talking to the reincarnation of your brother who died thirty-five years ago. The situation was getting awkward fast.

"Look," I said, trying to defuse the situation before Connor did or said something we couldn't explain, "My friends and I were just about to go down to the local diner for lunch."

Morgana raised an eyebrow. "We were?" After thirty years with me, Dan was pretty used to picking up on my cues and following my lead, but the others all gave me odd looks.

"Yes," I said, in a tone of voice that brooked no debate. "We were. Brandon, won't you join us? We can sort all of this over lunch, and Dan and I will be out of your hair by dinnertime."

"Lunch sounds good to me," Brandon replied cheerily.

While we were all walking down to Mort's diner, Brandon caught me aside, away from all the others. He half-smiled. "I don't mean to sound weird, but have we met before? I have the strangest feeling that I know you."

I smiled back at him. "No, I don't think you've met me before, Brandon."

Brandon made a face. "See, that's what I mean. That doesn't sound right when you say my name." He gave a little embarrassed laugh. "It's probably nothing, just little things giving me this odd _déjà vu_, like when you called me 'Brand'. No one's ever called me that, but, when you said it, I could swear I've heard you say it before. And I get the oddest feeling of—I don't know—wrong-ness when you call me Brandon." He shook his head. "I don't know where, but I'm _sure_ we've met before."

I put an arm around his shoulder. "Who knows, Brand, maybe we knew each other in a past life." Brandon shrugged and ran to catch up with everyone else. As he jogged away from me, I couldn't help noticing how nicely his tight jeans showed off his…assets. Okay, fine, I was checking out his ass. I couldn't help it; it's very worthy of being checked out. He happened to glance back and caught me staring. I blushed and met his eyes with an embarrassed grin and a shrug. He gave me a mischievous little smile and winked at me before turning away again.

I watched them all walking down to the town square and smiled. My good friends, my son, and my…well, at the moment Brandon was just a possibility, but he was a possibility I intended to fully explore. The future was full of possibilities.


	22. Epilogue

**Epilogue – Present Day, One Year Later**

I grabbed two pieces of toast when they popped up from the toaster in Fanny's kitchen and quickly dropped them onto a plate to avoid burning my fingers. I considered buttering the toast but decided against it. I deposited the plate of toast onto a tray which already bore a large bowl of thin broth, a spoon, and a bottle of ginger ale with a straw. Picking up the tray, I carefully negotiated my way up the stairs to Dan's bedroom on the second story. I was greeted by a disagreeable moan when I opened the bedroom door.

Dan lay in his bed, brow damp with sweat, squinting against the bright light shining into the room from the hallway. "Shutthedoor," he mumbled feverishly.

"Sorry," I apologized. I set the tray down on his nightstand. "I brought you a bit of food, if you feel up to it. Broth, ginger ale, and, if you're really feeling adventurous, dry toast."

"Oh, god," he rolled away from the tray. "I don't think I can do food right now."

"That's fine." I sat down on the edge of his bed and brushed the damp hair off his forehead. I could feel that his fever still hadn't broken. "It'll be here if you change your mind."

"Have you figured out what I've got?" Dan asked.

"Yes," I nodded.

"Well? Give me the bad news. What is it? Scarlet fever? The plague?"

I stroked his hair and tried not to smile. "You've got a bad case of the flu, Dan."

"What?" He tried to shout, but he didn't have the strength for it. "That's all?"

"That's all," I confirmed. "I'm sorry; I know it feels like the end of the world, but that's just because you've never been sick before. The flu isn't actually that bad, as sickness goes. It's no one's idea of fun, but I'm afraid it's part and parcel of the whole human experience."

He pushed himself up on his elbows. "If the flu's all I've got, why am I wasting my time in bed? Just heal me and be done with it."

"You don't want to do that, trust me, son," I assured him. "You've barely been human for a year. You've got the immune system of a child, and you need to get through this on your own to strengthen your body's defences. If I heal you now, you won't develop normal immune responses, and you'll spend the rest of your life getting sick every time someone sneezes. Why do you think you're the only one in the house who's sick?" Dan dropped back down onto his pillows with a small moan. "I'll leave you to rest," I patted his shoulder and stood up from the bed. Dan was already dropping off to sleep again when I closed the door behind me.

I went back downstairs to the drawing room and flopped down into the comfy sofa next to Brandon. He gave me an inquiring look. "How's Dan?"

"He's got the flu," I explained, "He'll be fine in a week or two. Of course, right now, he thinks he's dying."

"All this fuss," Brandon mused, "You'd think he'd never been sick before."

"I'm sorry," I sighed, "I know you planned to take me out today, but I really think I ought to stay home with Dan."

"It's alright," he replied. "I don't mind staying in."

"Morgan took Fanny up to London for the weekend," I told him, "for one of her lectures on what she's calling the 'New History of Camelot,' so it's just Dan and I in the house this weekend. And Dan's sick in bed, so I've basically got the house to myself."

"Really," Brandon laughed, "You don't need to talk me into staying for a while. I honestly don't mind staying in…as long as you're going to be here, too. Besides," he added, "your cousin is sick and needs you." I glanced at him sideways. He had put just enough emphasis on the word 'cousin' to make it sound like it meant something else, but not enough for me to be sure I wasn't just imagining it. He gave me one of those suspicious half-smiles that made me wonder if he'd guessed at more than I'd told him. "You're a very attentive cousin; I think it's sweet," he added and leaned over to kiss my cheek.

Inwardly I winced. I hated lying to Brandon. I wanted to tell him that Dan was really my son, but I hadn't figured out how to explain who Dan was, who I was, and who Brand had been.

"You know, it's a good thing I'm so fond of you." Brandon turned so he could put his legs across my lap and reached up to play with the hair at the nape of my neck. "I doubt many people would be willing to accept all the strangeness that goes along with dating you."

I leaned into his touch. "What strangeness is that?"

Brandon shrugged. "You and Lady Morgan act like lifelong friends, but she's at least twenty years your senior, and I know for a fact you never met before last year. Then there's the relationship between you and Dan. You two don't act like cousins. Hell, you don't even act like siblings. It's sweet, Merlin, but it's a little strange. And I'm not even going to try to explain whatever it is that drew us together. The first time I met you, it was like something inside of me just sat up and said, 'Oh, look, there's the one you've been looking for. That's the bloke you've been trying to find for your whole life.'"

I could tell he wasn't upset; he was just curious. But it still bothered me that I wasn't being totally honest with him. We'd been seeing each other for about six months, now, and I really wanted to find a way to explain everything about myself. I looked into Brandon's eyes. "I'm glad it doesn't scare you off. I'd hate to lose you again."

Brandon frowned. "Again?"

Oops. It was far too easy to forget myself when I was talking with Brandon. I shook my head. "I just mean I'd hate to lose you."

"I feel the same way," he said. The joking tone had left his voice; he sounded quite serious now. "Merlin," he smiled, "you know I love you. Right?" My heart skipped a beat. It was the first time he had said 'I love you' out loud. Brandon took my hand. "Whatever the secret is that you're keeping, it won't scare me off, I promise."

"What if it's something horrible?" I asked.

"No," Brandon shook his head, "I know you too well to believe it's that horrible. Do you want to know what I think? I don't think it's anything horrible at all. I think there's something a little bit impossible about you, and you don't want to admit it because you're afraid that I won't believe you or that I'll think you're crazy."

I smiled nervously. "That's a pretty good guess."

Brandon smiled back at me. "Merlin, there's been something inexplicable, something a little bit impossible, that's been pulling us together ever since I came back to Cabislayne, and I think you know what it is. Won't you tell me?"

"It's a long story," I warned. "A very long story."

"I've got all day," he replied.

"You'll never believe me."

"Try me."

I leaned back on the sofa and looked up at the ceiling. "I suppose it would be best to start at the beginning," I said.

"Where was that?" Brandon asked.

"Not far from here, but a very long time ago, when a king came to the throne of Camelot who thought that, maybe, instead of dominating his subjects under a monarchic tyranny, he should rule them generously and kindly. A king who believed it was his duty to make a better country for his people and for the generations who would follow." Softly, I began singing the last song from Lerner and Loewe's musical, _Camelot_.

_Each evening from December to December,  
Before you drift to sleep upon your cot,  
Think back on all the tales that you remember  
Of Camelot._

_Ask ev'ry person if he's heard the story,  
And tell it strong and clear if he has not,  
That there was once a fleeting wisp of glory  
Called Camelot._

_Camelot! Camelot!  
Now say it loud with pride and joy.  
Camelot! Camelot!  
Yes, Camelot, my boy._

_Where once it never rained 'till after sundown,  
By eight a.m. the morning fog had flown…  
Don't let it be forgot  
That once there was a spot  
For one brief shining moment that was known  
As Camelot._

"Back before Arthur died, it really felt like anything was possible."

Brandon smiled. "The way you talk about it, it's almost like you were there."

I looked over at Brandon. "I was."

"But…but…" Brandon sputtered, "That would make you more than a thousand years old!"

"A bit over fifteen hundred years old, actually," I corrected.

"Good god," Brandon breathed in awe. "You're Merlin, aren't you?" He shook his head. "I mean, you're _the_ Merlin from the Arthur legend, right?"

I laughed incredulously. "You believe me?"

"Well," Brandon paused, searching for the right words, "I trust you."

"Fair enough," I said.

"So, you didn't answer my question. Are you Arthur's Merlin?"

"Oh, yes," I nodded. "I was his; he was mine. We were…Brand, he was my first love."

"I see," Brandon was quiet.

"You're okay with this?" I asked. "It's a lot to take in all at once."

He looked up at me. "I'm not going anywhere, Merlin; I promise."

"I'm glad," I leaned down and kissed his forehead. "When I strolled into Camelot, I was just hoping I could somehow find my place in the world. In my wildest dreams, I couldn't have imagined the destiny that I would find in that place…"

**The End**

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
I wasn't going to do this.

I swear, I really wasn't. I promised myself that I wouldn't do this.

When I started writing, I had it in my head that, at the end of the story, I would put in a little note about my original ideas for the story of "Cabislayne" and a few of the influences that helped create it. Somewhere along the way, I decided that the idea was ridiculously arrogant and no one would really be that interested, so I decided to scrap the whole thing. Last weekend I started reading Neil Gaiman's Trigger Warnings. In the introduction, Neil talks about his own love of short stories; he says something about short story anthologies that really resonated with me:

"My favorite collections would not just give me short stories but they would also tell me things I didn't know, about the stories in the book and the craft of writing … I loved the authors who made me realize that each of the stories in the anthology was written, actually made up word by word and written down, by someone human, who thought and breathed and walked and probably even sang in the shower, like me."

One of the things I've always loved about Neil's anthologies is that they include short introductions for each piece in the collection. I love those introductions—they make me feel a little closer to the story and, by extension, the author. So, on the spur of the moment, I decided to put my own musings back into the end of "Cabislayne." If you agree, with my first assessment, that it's quite arrogant and self-centred, you can just stop here.

Still with me? Fabulous.

If I wrote as wonderfully as Neil, I might even put this up at the front of the story. As it is, there are two reasons I'm going to leave it here at the back end. First, I find it difficult to talk about a story with someone who hasn't yet read it. I'm always afraid I'll give away too much. Second, I'm a bit selfish. I don't really want to talk about the authors who inspire me right before you start reading my work. It makes me nervous that you'll be comparing me to them the whole time.

"Cabislayne" really sprang out of two ideas. I wanted to write a Morgana redemption story. I loved Morgana in Series 1; right up to the end of the show, I kept hoping Morgana would be saved, not killed. I also had an idea in my head to write a series of stories that would chronicle Merlin's life in the centuries following Arthur's death. I couldn't get anywhere with either idea, though; they both seemed to be creative dead ends for me. Then I discovered the song "Somewhere in Time." The image of two lovers separated by time, waiting through eternity to be reunited inevitably made me think of Merlin and Arthur. It occurred to me that if a modern-day Morgana were making amends to all the people she hurt in Camelot, it could really hurt Merlin. His happy ending, after all, can only come when Arthur returns, and he might be a pretty bitter and unhappy person after waiting for fifteen hundred years.

Instead of trying to develop the two ideas separately, I started thinking of them as one story. I had an image which, I admit, was a patchwork of ideas from better authors than me. I wanted to create the same sort of feeling that works so profoundly well in the musical _Camelot_. If you've never seen it, at the end of the musical, Arthur realizes that the power of Camelot is not in its knights but in the idea it represents. It ends the same way every adaptation of the Arthur legend ends, with Arthur going to his death in battle. But, even though Arthur knows he is about to die, he's still triumphant because he knows the idea that Camelot represents will endure. It's difficult to explain just how powerful it is. It moves me to tears every time I see it. I wanted to create a similar situation for Merlin. Even though it was in his power to go back and save Arthur, he gives up his chance to rescue his beloved so he can preserve Arthur's legacy in the present. I don't think I managed anything as powerful as _Camelot_, but I'm happy with it all the same.

The story's structure was originally going to be quite different. In Neil Gaiman's American Gods, the primary storyline is periodically interrupted with little vignettes about people immigrating to America and bringing their gods with them. I thought I could do the same thing; I would tell the modern-day story and intersperse it with a handful of historical vignettes about Merlin's life over the last fifteen centuries. I wanted to use the vignettes to construct something like David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, a series of stories which appear unrelated until you gradually realize they're all showing little bits of a bigger picture. My big picture was a bitter Merlin, disillusioned with humanity.

Well, as you already know, that idea fell by the wayside. In the last story before the modern-day events, I wanted Merlin to fall in love and lose that love. When I began to write the story of Merlin and Brand, I quickly realized that I couldn't tell their story in a few thousand words. Without a lot of backstory, their relationship just came off as a one-night stand. It wasn't believable that Merlin would cast aside his love for Arthur so lightly or that Brand's death would so deeply affect him. On top of that, an angry, embittered Merlin didn't work in my modern-day storyline. Reluctantly, I abandoned the idea to chronicle Merlin's history in favour of simply telling the story of Merlin and Brand. (I'd already started researching ideas for my historical vignettes, though, and bits and pieces of them still made it into the story proper.) I already had the idea that Merlin had rescued Dan from Mount St. Helens, so it seemed natural to set their story against the backdrop of Mount St. Helens and to end it with Merlin causing the eruption. Although I still miss my original idea, I'm glad it turned out the way it did. I never had any intention of bringing Brand back at the end of the story, but I grew far too attached to the character. Writing his death and the subsequent eruption was so difficult and, frankly, upsetting to me that I had to bring him back, and I'm glad I did.

The character of Dan was just a joy to write. During the first two chapters, I realized that I needed another character in the story. At first, I tried to write him as just a Doctor Who-style companion, but I couldn't figure out why this person would accompany Merlin on his thankless mission to protect Arthur's dream. On a whim, I decided that instead of companion, he would be Merlin's adopted son. Looking back, it was a terrible idea. It didn't make any sense for Merlin to adopt a child, but I didn't realize it at the time. I didn't realize just how ridiculous the idea was until I was writing Chapter 9, when Morgana is trying to convince Merlin that Dan isn't human. Several of the reasons it's a ridiculous idea are right in Morgana's dialogue. Fortunately, by that point, I had changed the character from Merlin's son into a homunculus created to pretend to be Merlin's son, and the whole thing worked out (I hope) beautifully.

I would like to make mention of the word 'Cabislayne.' I quite like it, and I'm just a little proud of it. I liked it so much that I didn't just use it for the name of the village, but for the name of the whole story, too. The word is an homage, two homages in one, actually (albeit extremely obscure homages), to Thomas Mallory and Gregory Maguire. I needed a name for Morgana's village. I didn't want to use the name of any real place, so I was trying to think a name which sounded suitably British. I remembered the story of how Gregory Maguire made the name 'Elphaba' for Wicked. He took the initials of L. Frank Baum, author of The Wizard of Oz, LFB, and turned them into a word: **L**-**F**a-**B**a. I tried to do that with any number of names and places from the Arthurian vulgate. The only thing that seemed to have any potential was an acronym sometimes used for Arthur: KAB (**K**ing **A**rthur of **B**ritain). I started playing with Arthur's name and somehow (I'm honestly not sure how it happened—it was very late at night and I was very tired) I realized that I could combine the KAB acronym with the title of Sir Thomas Mallory's most famous work, _Le Morte d'Arthur_. '_Le morte d'Arthur_,' as you probably know, literally translates as, 'the death of Arthur.' That phrase turned into, 'Arthur is dead' which became 'Arthur is slain' which turned into 'KAB is slain' which, finally, led to 'Cabislayne.' I loved the word because, aside from sounding quintessentially British, it also references, in an extremely roundabout way, the problem at the centre of the whole story, that being that Merlin is lonely because Arthur is slain.

I hope you've enjoyed learning a little more about the thoughts behind the story of "Cabislayne." If you're still reading this, then it's probably been at least marginally interesting, which pleases me. During the process of writing, "Cabislayne" became unexpectedly, deeply personal for me. I wound up drawing on some rather unpleasant personal experiences from six or seven years back, and the story took on a new dimension. As I said in my brief introduction, writing it was difficult but also rewarding. Although it stirred up some memories which I would, frankly, rather have left forgotten, getting them out in this story has been fairly cathartic.

Thanks for reading,  
_Parmelesse_


End file.
